


sleep, blue wolf, sleep

by versipelle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blue Hair, Car Accidents, Disney, F/M, Fancy Dress, Hair Dye, Kanimas, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Party, Prince Charming/Sleeping Beauty - Freeform, Ridiculous, Sleeping Curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versipelle/pseuds/versipelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek falls under a sleeping curse, Stiles dyes his hair, and everyone gets dressed up. And that's just the start...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleeping Blue-ty

He’s not really sure what compels him to do it, other than the fates lining up a sequence of events making it possible to do so.

First, Mrs McCall and his dad are attending a couples fancy dress party together and for some inexplicable reason think his idea of going as Homer and Marge Simpson is totally hilarious and worth doing. Second, his father gets him to buy the necessary equipment to dye hair blue - semi-permanent dye and a bleaching kit. Third, Scott’s mum manages to find the perfect wig on eBay and so no longer requires the dye and bleach. Fourth, as he’s on his way to return the stuff, Deaton rings him and tells him it’s an emergency and he can’t contact anyone else. He drives straight to the clinic and is greeted by a shirtless Derek Hale flat out unconscious on the table, with Deaton looking harried and nervous.

“The pack has vanished,” he says by way of an introduction, “and Derek is under some kind of sleeping curse and won’t wake up. I’m going to have to go find them myself, but I can’t risk leaving him alone. Can you stay with him?”

“Good afternoon to you too,” he replies with a smile. “Of course I will.” He ‘s quite disappointed to discover he isn’t being summoned to save the day, but since even he couldn’t conjure up a plan straight away to deal with the issue, maybe it would be better left to the professional just this once.

“Thank you Stiles,” Deaton exhales with relief, “I should hopefully only be a few hours, if he starts to wake then contact me.”

An hour goes by. Two. Three. Four, and he’s desperately bored and he can’t play any more games on his phone because the battery is getting low and Deaton might ring any second. He paces the room, getting antsy, and knocks over the bag he was supposed to be returning. He looks down at the bleach, the dye, and then at Derek’s sleeping form. A grin spreads across his face, and he just can’t help himself, despite knowing he’s almost certainly going to be violently murdered by Derek, because it will be worth it.

***

It’s easier than he thought it would be, especially since he’s able to roll Derek’s head around into suitable positions to facilitate good coverage. It’s almost therapeutic, watching the gentle rise and fall of Derek’s chest as he runs his gloved fingers through his hair. He really hopes the bleach will work on such dark hair, and there’s a horrible moment where he realises just quite what the fuck he’s doing and that there’s no way of quitting, and he needs a few minutes sitting on the floor breathing deeply to bring himself back, but he recovers and leaves the bleach on rather longer than suggested because hey, werewolf healing will sort out any burns, before filling a bucket with water and rinsing off the bleach into another empty bucket.

He’s not terribly careful with it and splashes water everywhere, but soon Derek’s hair is clean and dry and ridiculously blond. Pure white blond in fact, and Stiles is thinking about a future career in hairdressing when Derek makes a tiny noise. Stiles bowls backwards and slips on some water and crashes to the floor, legs flailing in the air like a dying fly and he of course chooses to get the giggles as well.

He spends several minutes cowering on the floor, his face scrunched up to avoid the inevitable lethal lunge Derek will make, but it never comes and his ass is going numb, so he gets back up and Derek is still fast asleep. For some reason the white blond look is ridiculously good on Derek (which just isn’t fair, because how can bleached hair and dark eyebrows and stubble look so hot?) and, Stiles realises, something that no one else will see. It’s a private thing, just for him, even if he made it that way and it’s good to know he can have knowing smirks about it forever and infuriate everyone by not telling them why.

The blue dye seems kind of complicated and Stiles wonders if maybe he should just leave it as is before realising that would spoil said private moment, so he slaps it all on thick, using the entire pot to make sure it doesn’t look horrendous. I mean, he wants Derek to look silly but he doesn’t want him to look bad. That would spoil every stolen glance he makes for the next few weeks, or however long the dye lasts.

In fact, he’s amazed at himself for keeping himself so collected around the object of his longtime frustrated affections. If he was more of an amoral kind of person, he’d have totally unzipped those jeans and seen what Derek was packing, but he still holds out hope that one day he’ll find out through honest means, and doesn’t want to spoil that now. Even if he is getting immeasurably turned on by washing out the dye from Derek’s hair and discovering that, holy shit, blue is definitely Derek’s colour. It hasn’t taken perfectly, with hints of green showing through where the bleach hasn’t taken properly either, but it just serves to complement his eyes and Stiles has his hand rubbing his dick through his pocket in a trance when his phone rings in the other and startles him. Deaton was calling.

“I’ve found them,” he says when Stiles answered. “Someone had trapped them inside one of Derek’s old haunts that I forgot about, and sealed them in.” Mountain ash, Stiles presumes. Not much else could keep a werewolf trapped for so long. “I’ve dealt with it, but they’re totally exhausted and I’m taking them back to the apartment before I head back, is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he says in a daze, the reality of the situation starting to sink in. He’s dyed an alpha werewolf’s hair bright blue while he was under a spell, and with Deaton on his way back it wouldn’t be long until he was awake again. He needs to get the hell out of there, and fast, but can’t go until Deaton is back. Even that would be a nightmare. He can’t imagine Deaton being compliant with his request of not mentioning Stiles being there. He’ll have to try though.

***

“Stiles,” Deaton says as he walks in the door, noting his slightly manic tapping on the doorframe, a poor attempt at acting composed. “Has something happened? Is he awake?”

“Oh no, thank god,” he replies, “I mean, thank god because I didn’t have to deal with keeping him here until you got back because I know you’d hate him to go running off after his pack so soon, obviously.”

“Of course,” Deaton says calmly, with only the slightest inclination of his left brow. “No other reason?”

“None at all,” he smiles wildly, “but could you, like, not tell Derek I’ve been here on my own all this time? As a small favour. I’ll transcribe some dusty old bestiary for you in return.” Bribery. Wonderful. That will go down really well.

“You do that all the time anyway, Stiles,” Deaton says and it is true, he does, he finds it fascinating and is now cursing himself for doing it so freely because it’s a terrible bargaining chip. It’s pretty much the only one he has though.

“I’m going to go,” he says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder hurriedly and heading for the door, “just, please, don’t say anything!”

“What have you-” Deaton starts to say as he heads into the clinic, and Stiles bolts for the door. Half way through it, he hears Deaton burst into laughter and stops for a second, out of shock more than anything. It gives Deaton time to come back through, look him square in the eye and say “I’ll try my best not to say a word,” before cracking up once more. “I don’t know what possesses you, Stiles, but it is a wonder.”


	2. The Martin's Gathering

Three days later, Derek still isn’t awake. The pack have gone from mildly worried to slightly more worried and occasionally snappy, especially since discovering Derek’s little hair problem. Isaac is the most unsettled by it, frowning at Stiles at every possible opportunity. Deaton is still stifling laughter every time he’s in the room, which just makes the whole thing worse really.

“I didn’t know it would be this serious!” Stiles exclaims. “You were all supposed to have a chuckle at it when he woke up.” He looked over to Scott for help, who just shrugged, which Stiles knew meant ‘give them time’.

“Blame the fates,” he says grandly, “they put me in the position to do it.”

“Right, totally,” Isaac deadpans while Boyd suppresses a smirk. “The fates. Silly me for not thinking that sooner.” Erica just carries on staring at Derek’s still figure on the metal table.

“I think I might dye my hair,” she says eventually. “After the party, obviously,” she adds hurriedly, looking at Boyd for approval. Isaac flushes and Stiles wonders what he was getting embarrassed about.

Right, the fancy dress party, Stiles remembers. He didn’t realise it was tonight. Erica and Boyd are going as Antony and Cleopatra, and Erica has an amazing wig prepared, from the same place online Melissa had got hers. Scott and Allison are, hilariously, going as Beauty and the Beast, although it had led to an argument whereby Scott felt it was ridiculous to put on a Beast costume when he could just wolf out, but Allison was understandably dead set against it.

“You stick to your costume, buddy,” he says to Scott, who just frowns in disgust.

“Unnecessary expense,” he grumbles.

“At least you get to go,” he grumbles back at him, and Scott has the decency to look abashed. “I’ll be stuck home alone researching, or forced to check in on blueberry muffin for you guys,” he adds, jerking a thumb over to Derek. Deaton is forced to leave the room and get a drink at that remark, and even Isaac stifles a laugh.

“If you do find anything useful,” Deaton says as he walks back in, slightly breathless, “please do let me know. I just can’t understand how this curse operates. I’ve tried every modern cure I can find, which makes me think this is something very old and primal. I just can’t work out what.”

“I’ve nothing better to do,” he says with a self-deprecating smile. “Have a good night, you guys.”

He walks out of the clinic, annoyed and ashamed for being so irritable with them. It’s just, and he hates admitting this even to himself, he wishes Derek were awake so he could go to the stupid party with him, even though that would never happen in a million years which just makes him feel even worse. It wouldn’t even have to be as a couple couple, just something cool like, say, Batman and Robin. Even if he would end up stuck being Robin yet again.

***

Getting home provides him with a reason for his dour mood to evaporate instantly, as his dad opens the door with a bald cap on, two exaggerated hairs curling across the top of it. It takes a minute for him to stop laughing long enough to listen to him speaking.

“I wasn’t gone that long, no need to pull your hair out,” he chortles, and his dad fixes him with a look.

“There’s someone upstairs for you,” he says with a wink, and walks away.

“No explanation, seriously?!” he shouts after him, but none is forthcoming so eventually he treads the stairs slowly, wondering who the hell could be waiting for him when he’d just seen the pack and Derek was reliably otherwise engaged.

Once he opens the door, he understands why there was no explanation. Nothing could have prepared him for this. A mass of strawberry blonde curls, held in place with a red bow, sits on top of an extremely familiar blue and yellow costume. Lydia looks beautiful, and he opens his mouth to tell her.

“Your hair isn’t the right colour,” he says instead, still thinking of Derek, and fumbles his hands together to stop her from bursting into tears.

“I need your help,” she says as a single tear slips down her cheek. How could he ever say no?

***

The Martin house is glorious, Stiles remembers from her birthday a while back. Lydia is glorious too, although not in the way he used to think. Derek kinda changed all that, although clearly aloof, formidable and unattainable is a recurring theme. But he feels ridiculous, looks ridiculous, and can’t believe he’s been roped into this. The red cape keeps wafting round into his face, and the puffy white sleeves just emphasise how skinny his arms are. Jackson would have filled this outfit out much better, he knows, but of course Jackson is long gone and Lydia can’t go to a famous couples party at her house alone. So Stiles is finally to be her Prince Charming, only not quite how he’d ever imagined it.

Scott is thrilled to see him though, and Allison looks beautiful alongside him. He’s so glad they worked things out, because he wouldn’t ever want to lose either of them as friends, no matter what happened before. She’s the definition of Beauty, and Scott is nowhere near as much of a Beast as he could be. He’s a dashing beast compared to the other times he looks like this and it makes Stiles chuckle inwardly that he’s one of the few there to know that.

“I’d say I’m surprised to see you, but since I know Lydia’s costume, I’m not,” Allison laughs.

“Some things always stay the same.” He fakes a sigh, and they all laugh together. Stiles scans across the room trying to find the huge blue wig that signifies his dad is around, sees Boyd and Erica sitting at a far table talking, Erica’s wig making her look strikingly different, and watches a guy dressed as Robin nervously walk towards the door jealously when suddenly the person behind the mask seems very familiar and he marches over, pulling up the mask victoriously.

“Aha! I thought it was you,” he says to Isaac, “what are you doing here? And in the costume I totally would have worn.” With Derek as Bale instead of Hale, he adds privately, trying to push him out of his mind for tonight. He might not be interested any more, but he still had a date with Lydia tonight and he will be making the absolute most of it. Isaac ears flush, and suddenly Stiles understands something.

“Who’s your Batman?” he winks, and Isaac thankfully just laughs. “I get it. Really.”

A terribly put on low voice rumbles behind them, “nice to see you, Robin. And you, Prince Cha- Stiles?” The voice becomes strangled and normal.

“Danny?” He understands even more now. “This is a turn up for the books.” Before either of them has a chance to run away, he flails his hands at them in protest. “This is cute, okay. Even if this is just hanging out as bros, which I don’t believe for a second, this is cute. Don’t go running away, just go for it.”

Danny makes a pretty good Batman, he thinks, but to a different Robin. He recalls the time he called him and Scott that and gets grossed out for a minute, because that is not something he should ever be thinking of, ever.

“Stiles!” Lydia hisses at him, “time to dance,” and wow, all of a sudden this night is terrifying.

“Dance?” he wails. “You did not mention this! You violated the treaty.”

“Oh relax, Stilinski, no one’s asking for an Argentinian tango, just go with it.”

***

Three dances later, he manages to escape Lydia’s clutches and make his way back to Scott and Allison.

“You’re actually pretty good!” she says, “care to join me?”

He groans but he just can’t say no, so he bows exaggeratedly to Scott and intones “May I have your fair maiden’s hand for a waltz?” and they all crack up.

“You may,” Scott grins back, and he and Allison make their way back out onto the floor.

“For someone so clumsy, you sure are graceful out here,” she says proudly, and he worries for a second that he’s going to cry all over her dress, because she sounds proud like his mother would have been. He has to shake his head and pull himself together, and notices his dad looking over at him, worried. How had he even noticed, he wonders, and does a complicated dance with his eyebrows to say he’ll be over there soon and that he’s just fine, stop worrying and dance!

He smiles at Allison, who doesn’t seem to notice his momentary frown, and they twirl around faster and faster until he feels dizzy and wonderful again.

“Did you see Isaac and Danny?” he says to her during a lull. “I think there’s something going on there,” he says with a smile. “Batman and Robin. That takes planning and serious arguing about who’s going to be who. What do you think?” He’s not sure why he’s bringing it up, but he is.

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” she says, “you know for a while I was worried, I thought Isaac was after Scott! I feel really stupid now just for thinking it. Danny’s so lovely,” she says, and Stiles agrees without a second’s hesitation. He just is, and maybe he’ll make Isaac a bit happier too.

“I felt like I was in a movie,” she says breathlessly when they exit the floor at the end of the song. “Lydia is crazy to not see what she’s been missing,” she whispers to him conspiratorially, as though making a great betrayal. “Even she should notice that you’re a proper fairy tale prince tonight,” and his heart stops beating, just for a moment. Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, both awoken by a kiss. Derek, lying still in the clinic. There’s no glass coffin or overgrown castle to contend with, but it seems plainly obvious what the only cure could be. “Something very old and primal,” Deaton had said, and what could be more primal than true love’s kiss?

***

He was racing out the door when a hand grabbed his arm. “Doh!” he says with the goofiest grin possible, “you caught me.” His dad is arm-in-arm with Mrs McCall and Stiles wonders if it’s not just Isaac and Danny who have something to tell the world tonight.

“You okay?” the sheriff asks. “You looked a bit strange out there.”

“I know right? My dancing was awful,” he nods vigorously. “Look, I can’t stop and chat, I need to make a phone call and it’s way too crowded in here to even think straight. I’ll talk to you later, promise,” he says, and his dad, to his relief, just smiles and says okay and Stiles watches in fascination a towering blue wig slicing through the dance floor before he remembers the important phone call and heads outside.

“Deaton!” he exclaims the second he picks up, “I think I’ve got it. The cure to the sleeping curse. I was kinda... inspired. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but all those old tales from Brothers Grimm and Andersen and the rest all have basis in fact, right?”

Deaton agrees, and he continues.

“Snow White, poisoned by an apple to an eternal sleep. Sleeping Beauty, pricks her finger and sleeps for a hundred years. Both of them were woken up the same way. What if that’s what this is?”

He hears Deaton umming and ahhing down the phone.

“It’s about the only option we have left,” Deaton says finally. “You should come down to the clinic, talk this over, do some more research. You’re at home, correct?”

“Actually, I’m at the fancy dress party,” Stiles replies. “No way can I get out of it right now, but I’ll be round as soon as it’s done, okay?” Deaton just tells him to hurry and he puts the phone down, and walks back into the room. Lydia finds him almost immediately, drags him back on the floor where thankfully the dancing has devolved into ridiculousness and he and Scott can throw out some of their amazing routines from childhood. He keeps looking at the clock though. Counting down the minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is [oddthomasxxiii](http://oddthomasxxiii.tumblr.com).


	3. Human Slippers

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the after party?” Lydia asks him, and god he wants so much to say yes just for old time’s sake, but he knows that going to Deaton is more important, and that it isn’t fair on Lydia even if she hasn’t been all that fair on him about this in the past.

“I can’t, I’ve got something I need to attend to,” he says, immediately regretting his choice of words because he can’t help but think it sounds like he’s going to jerk off at home, but it’s done now and Deaton won’t be waiting around all night - although when does that guy ever sleep?

He walks away, ignoring Lydia’s dejection that he can still feel on his back, and gets in the jeep and drives away without saying goodbye to anyone.

Stiles is making a list in his mind of all the times past midnight Deaton has been magically awake and at the clinic when one of them has barged in there with yet another injured werewolf to deal with, and almost misses the turning when a car shoots by him at a ridiculous speed, heading back the way he came. He stares at it for a second, because it looks so much like Jackson’s silver Porsche that he figures he has to be seeing things. He eventually realises he’s sitting at a green light and turns, pulls in a little way down the road and walks the rest of the way to the clinic, convinced he needs some air.

***

“Stiles! You forgot to-” Deaton says before pausing, looking over Stiles’ costume. “ring. Never mind. You seem to think you’re the man for the job anyway,” he adds with a smile.

He’s confused for a minute, before he looks down, remembers that he’s Prince Charming tonight and oh god.

“No no, fancy dress remember?” He flushes uncontrollably, hoping Deaton can’t see his ears and neck turning red even though they feel so warm that it must be like watching a lobster boil. “Lydia was Snow White,” he continues, pushing Deaton away from that line of thinking.

“And here you are. She must be as immune to your charm as she is to everything else,” Deaton replies, and wow he’s being a bit of a dick right now, Stiles thinks. Maybe it’s because it’s 1am and Deaton has been hanging around for nearly three hours waiting for him. He probably deserves a bit of friendly abuse. “Anyway,” Deaton continues as if his last comment had no effect at all, “your theory seems pretty solid. Except, of course, it’s hard to tell if it’s correct until it’s been undone. I thought you might have brought everyone else with you.”

Stiles is nonplussed. “Why would everyone else be needed?”

“To check if any of them are the cure,” he replies as if it’s totally obvious, and to be fair to him, it kind of is.

“What if Derek isn’t in love with anyone?” Stiles asks.

“Then the curse wouldn’t have worked to begin with, so assuming that is what this is, he does love somebody. Hard to believe to you, I’m sure, but he wasn’t always so... difficult.” Deaton says, and Stiles is struck by the warmth in his voice. He must have been great friends with Derek’s family. “He was just a normal kid, mature and sensible but still normal, not as world weary as events have made him.”

“I see,” Stiles says, but obviously he doesn’t. He’s never seen normal Derek, and doesn’t think he ever will.

“He’s still in there somewhere,” Deaton adds, one side of his mouth raising in a wan half-smile. “It’s a shame he hides it, is scared of it. But obviously, someone got under his skin enough to bring back that feeling in him.” Stiles gulps because, well, the thought of getting under Derek’s skin makes him tingle in strange places.

He snaps back to reality in time to see Deaton put his phone back in his pocket, and seeing his questioning glance, the vet says, “I sent out a text to everyone, told them to come here at once. Said it’s important.”

***

Half an hour later, the three couples and Lydia are there, all still in their costumes although Stiles can’t help but notice a slightly revealing tear in the leg of Isaac’s tights. Definitely not just hanging out as bros, then.

“Our resident genius Stiles has come up with a brilliant idea,” Deaton begins, trying hard to concentrate while faced with eight people mostly in Disney and DC costumes. “I can’t help but notice the irony in half of you wearing these outfits when the potential cure for this curse sits on your lips. You see, Stiles took some inspiration from your soiree to come to an unexpectedly perfect solution. Derek is under a sleeping curse similar to those in the old fairy tales, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and perhaps the cure is also there too.”

“You mean one of us has to kiss him?” Scott says, horrified.

“I would imagine it probably won’t be you,” Deaton replies with a smile, and everyone laughs.

“Then who?” Stiles says. “You got everyone here, but you don’t need everyone.”

“Well, to be honest I have no idea who. One of you lot seems the most likely suspect, however. Who would like to go first?”

The group as one look around at each other with suspicion and embarrassment. The two long-term couples in particular look perturbed, but eventually Erica steps forward and says “what the hell” and places her lips to Derek’s. Nothing happens. She gives a ‘I’m sorry but we need to do it’ shrug to Boyd, who grimaces horribly and then does the same. Again, nothing.

“Neither of us is the glass slipper,” Boyd says sarcastically.

“Wrong film, doofus,” Erica replies.

Isaac and Danny are both fairly nonchalant about it, laughing at each other after they’ve both done it and Derek is still lifeless except for the rise and fall of his chest. Allison steps forward next, but Scott grabs her arm to stop her.

“This is so weird,” he moans, “I swear to god if he wakes up right now I’ll kill him.”

Allison’s lips brush against Derek’s, and Stiles is beginning to get really nervous. This is not how he imagined his first kiss with Derek going, in front of an audience with only one of them even knowing it was happening.

“Did his eyes just flicker?!” Scott shouts and everyone stares.

“No,” Allison replies, deadpan. “Stop being ridiculous and just do it.”

“Ugh,” Scott says, and Allison looks reproachful.

“You’d do it if it were Stiles lay on that table,” Danny says mischievously.

“That’s different, he’d totally wake up,” Scott replies and Stiles manages to grin and scowl at the same time. “Seriously though, I don’t want Derek to be in love with me. That’s just...”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Allison replies, and Scott just sighs and kisses Derek for the tiniest amount of time possible.

“That was so not cool.” Again, nothing happens, and the relief radiating from Scott is palpable. Stiles is inexplicably annoyed by his best friend’s reaction, because Derek is really not that bad but now isn’t really the time to point that out. It’s bad enough he’s going to have to make a fantasy a reality, without cluing everyone in to his feelings as well.

Lydia gives him a weird look before leaning over and kissing Derek. Everyone holds their breath, but nothing happens and everyone turns to unsubtly stare at Stiles. It takes him a second to understand why. Holy shit. It’s not any of the others. It’s him.

He doesn’t want to do this now, not in front of everyone. It’s too crazy. Derek Hale is in love with him. The attention is too much, and he just wants them to stop, to turn away and not notice when their lips finally hit and Derek’s eyes slide open and stare into his and he says “at last, I thought you’d never realise,” and then they’d kiss truly, a full-bodied passionate never-ending glorious-

“Err, Stiles, what are you waiting for?” Lydia says and he squeezes the bridge of his nose to clear his head.

“Look, if he wakes up, I have to deal with the consequences,” he snaps. “Sorry, it’s just - this is fucking weird, okay. I’m in a Prince Charming costume, about to kiss a surly-ass werewolf and I have to hope he wakes up even though if he does, then what the fuck, and if he doesn’t then we all just kissed him for nothing.”

Then he strides forward and places his mouth on Derek’s mouth, thinks of it just like that, so it’s not a kiss, just a meeting of mouths for a necessary reason. Derek’s lips are warm and soft and there’s a small patch where they’ve dried out slightly and he wants to moisten it back up with his tongue but that’s really weird even for him, and he panics, thinking he’s been kissi- mouth meeting much too long so he pulls away with a gasp and watches. Nothing. Nothing at all happens.

The mood of the room changes. Everyone’s hope dissipates in a flash, because that was the only idea they had, and it didn’t work. Stiles feels even worse than the rest of them put together, because there was a brief interlude in his hopeless existence where he thought somebody loved him. Of course his dad loves him, and Scott loves him, and Allison and the others but all in a platonic way, and this was something real. Except it wasn’t real, it was still just a fantasy, a fairy tale. A Prince Charming costume doesn’t change a thing, he scolds himself, you’re still Stiles underneath it. Get a grip.

“Fuck,” Erica says, “now what?”

Nobody knows what to say. Maybe it’s somebody else, but then who else does Derek really know?

“Is there anybody else?” Deaton asks them. “Well, anybody alive.” He states it so matter-of-factly that Stiles is surprised into thinking about the other people they knew. Matt, Jackson - Jackson again. No one even knew if he was dead or not. It was a possibility, but not one he wanted to mention in front of Lydia. He’d ring Deaton tomorrow and discuss it.

“Not unless he’s in love with my dad,” Allison forces out a laugh after saying it, “or the Sheriff.” She gives him a teasing look that doesn’t stop the horrible strangled feeling in his throat. Seriously. How could she even think it?

“Let’s just convince ourselves that isn’t the case, since neither of them is going to rush forward and embrace Blue’s Clues here,” Stiles says, mainly to wrestle from his brain the thought of Derek being into his dad. “What if it were someone who died?” He looks over at Deaton, who thankfully doesn’t ask for elaboration.

“Well, since I don’t think who or whatever placed this curse wants him to stay like this forever, I’d say it would have to be someone alive. I can’t say for sure, this whole thing is surprisingly tricky to solve. I thought we’d found our solution, but unless someone surprising steps forward, we’re back to square one. Let’s just sleep on it, okay? It’s late and you really all need to get out of those costumes.”

They all look down as if surprised to discover they’re still dressed as they are.

“Good point,” Isaac says, “these are getting really uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure you’ve got someone who can help you with those,” Erica playfully growls at him, and both he and Danny blush. Even with his feelings in tatters, Stiles finds it adorable. Damn those two.

***

He really has no idea what it is that makes his eyes flicker open. It’s completely dark but he can make out dull shapes around him, but he can’t seem to focus on anything properly. He sits up, and the movement is painful. His muscles ache an incredible amount at first, but he waits, lets them adjust, wondering what the hell is going on. This isn’t where he remembers being, although he can’t really remember much of anything. He was at the old house, wanting to be alone, when everything goes blank. What the hell happened to him?

He stands up, sees the time on the clock. Is it really three in the morning? It was nine in the morning when he was up at the house. How has a whole day gone by without him knowing. He turns and recognises the big metal table at Deaton’s. Why is he here? What happened to him?

He walks over to it, catches his reflection. What in the-

Derek howls out in fury. Someone better get him some fucking answers, and they better do it right now.


	4. The Final Word

His dad is sitting in a chair in the kitchen, whisky glass empty on the table in front of him when he arrives home. He greets Stiles with a deep frown.

“You do realise it’s three in the morning, right?”

“I’m sorry, dad,” he says, not even bothering to lie his way out of it. “I know I said we’d talk, but I’m really tired.”

His dad holds up his hand, stopping him instantly. “None of that. Don’t bullshit me, kid, I know something was up with you and I know you didn’t just hang out at the after party with Scott. So what is going on?”

“I’m fine,” he lies, because really he isn’t. Having his heart broken hurts even more the second time, he’s found. “I just,” he pauses. “I miss Mum sometimes. I spent the evening with the girl I used to like more than anything, and I didn’t feel a thing. She asked me to stay and I said no. My best friend is in love and I’m second best to him now.” He slumps into the next seat, wonders just how big of a lie ‘I’m fine’ was. None of this was stuff crossing his mind until right now.

“You’re never second best to me, Stiles,” his dad replies, his lips thinning and brows knitting together.

“Heh, until Scott’s mum is here every day, right?” he laughs, hollow and forced. “It’s fine,” he says when his dad looks crushed, “I didn’t mean that, I’m just exhausted. I’m sorry.” He gets up, doesn’t look back, just heads to the stairs and doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t take a breath until he’s at the top, throwing open his door with anger directed solely inwards. What the hell is up with him? That was not cool, not cool at all, and he doesn’t even know why he did it. Stupid Derek...

Derek.

Derek is sat on the bed looking mutinous. Well, he assumes he is, he can’t actually see anything except where the moonlight hits his hair, bouncing patches of darker blue light onto his light blue walls. He feels like he’s in the ocean, looking at it, and he wishes very much he were at sea, thousands of miles away from this shit. This is the last thing he wants to deal with, the absolute last thing, but Derek is here and he can’t stop his curiosity.

“Deaton found someone to wake you up then?” he asks warily.

“I woke myself up,” Derek responds, masking his confusion even though Stiles can still hear it bubbling underneath his neutral tone. “Care to explain this?” he questions, pointing up at his head. “I howled for my pack when I woke up, saw my reflection, wanted an explanation, but they’re all ignoring my call. Very unlike them.”

Stiles knows Derek is speaking English, but he feels instead like he can hear the rattle of a snake, can see the hood of a cobra flaring at every syllable. Right now he’s dangerous like Stiles has never seen him. Derek is not a fan of being kept in the dark.

He isn’t either, literally, so he flicks on the light and discovers Derek hasn’t got round to putting a shirt on yet. This is not gonna help him concentrate. Fuck.

“You’ve been asleep for nearly four days. Someone or something put you under a sleeping curse. I don’t even know how you woke up when nothing we tried worked.” He decides to leave out the fact where everyone, Stiles included, had a pack meeting directly on Derek’s lips. “I don’t have a clue about the hair either,” he lies valiantly. “Anything I’ve missed?”

Derek sags a little, defeated. He actually believes Stiles. Amazing. Amazing but worrying, because it means Stiles has got way too good at lying to be healthy, even though he was always one to bend the truth to start with. “You could try explaining the costume?” he asks, and Stiles wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s still dressed as Prince Charming, and his embarrassment is so great that he shucks right out of the shirt and is flicking off his shoes, pulling down his trousers before he even realises that Derek is still there, looking bewildered.

“There was a fancy dress party, I was a last minute addition to Lydia’s costume.”

Wow, he was getting really down on himself tonight.

“Can you not keep looking at me like that? I know you’ve been asleep for four days but I’m not a meal.”

Derek obediently turns away, to his surprise.

“You just started stripping off without a word, and I doubt there’s enough meat on you to get a decent dinner out of, so you can stop worrying.”

Ouch.

“That’s because I’m going to bed, so if you could kindly get the fuck out now, I’d be grateful.”

“I don’t think you’ve been grateful for anything the entire time I’ve known you,” Derek snipes at him as he launches through the window. “And don’t think for one second I believe you don’t know anything about this fucking hair deal.” His voice is taut, ready to strike. Crap. Stiles hides his terror with a snarky comeback, because it’s the best way he knows.

“Oh please, if I were involved it’d be bright pink with my name shaved into it.”

Derek leaves without a word. That could have gone better, Stiles thinks, but it could have been a lot worse. He wasn’t injured in any way, despite Derek clearly knowing he was behind the dye job. He’d almost feel hurt if he didn’t.

***

Scott feels pretty sheepish when he makes his way to the apartment the next day. He wonders if anyone else is even going to dare show their face, because ignoring Derek’s call was bad. Really bad. Pretty much the worst thing they’ve ever done to him, and considering the crap he’s been through with them all, that’s saying something. In fact, he’s 99% sure he wouldn’t be here now if he wasn’t so desperate to know how Derek was awake and well again.

He walks in the door and Isaac is there, sitting on the sofa, looking less than thrilled until he sees Scott’s face and then smiles, just a bit. Scott smiles back, then stops when Isaac makes a strangled noise.

He’s convinced Derek is behind him and he instinctively ducks, but instead an arm pops on his shoulder.

“Man I feel like crap,” Stiles says, and Scott whips round so fast he almost knocks him over. “Chill out!” he exclaims as he leans against the doorframe for support.

“What are you... how do you...”

“Know to be here? Derek texted me this morning, said I wouldn’t want to miss this.” He looks round. “But apparently Boyd and Erica would want. He’s really not happy with you guys,” Stiles smiles blissfully at them, for once happy not to be the source of Derek’s eternal frustration. He practically skips across to the sofa, and Scott and Isaac both stare daggers at his back.

“How nice to see you all,” Derek says as he walks in. “My name’s Derek, I’m not sure if you remember me but I’m your Alpha. Apparently in the last four days, you seem to have completely erased my existence from your minds,” he says. Stiles looks impressed at the level of sarcasm he manages, but Scott isn’t.

“It could have been, like, a trap or something,” he says lamely.

“Absolutely. I was reprogrammed to destroy the betas I mostly helped make. The fact that I magically awoke out of nowhere not important in the-” he says, but stops when he sees Scott and Isaac share a glance. “What?”

“Hardly out of nowhere,” Isaac pipes up. “I mean, we did all Prince Charming you.”

Stiles looks like he’s considering burrowing under the sofa cushions to hide, which doesn’t make sense until Derek turns slowly to him, and says “You seem to have missed a few details out of our little chat last night, Stilinski.”

Oh.

“Yes, well,” he sputters, and Scott doesn’t even know what he’s so worked up about. “You were rather pissed off, I didn’t think telling you you’d had a party on your lips and we were all invited was the best thing really.”

“You did what?”

“Well, see, at the fancy dress last night, I got to thinking and wondered if maybe you were under a sleeping curse Disney style, so I, erm, mentioned it to Deaton and he got us all to kiss you in case it broke the spell. And it didn’t! At the time, but obviously there was a delayed reaction or something. So yeah. It slipped my mind last night?”

Derek huffs, and Scott can see one claw elongate on his left hand. “Who was there?” he asks.

“Me and Allison, Boyd and Erica, Isaac and Danny, Stiles, and Lydia.” Scott answers as quietly as possible.

“I felt that comma there, bro,” Stiles pouts.

“So wait,” Scott says before anyone can say anything else. “That means one of us... we broke the spell. Who was it? Please say it wasn’t me,” he begs, “I do not want you thinking about my junk like that, ever.”

“I doubt that’s seriously what caused me to wake up,” Derek replies calmly. Too calmly, Stiles has noticed, and Scott hopes he won’t press it. So of course he does.

“But,” he says.

“I’m not discussing it further.”

“But.”

“No more!” Derek shouts, losing his temper and fully wolfing out to cause maximum terror and abject silence. He’s stood in front of Stiles, centimetres away, and Scott is already preparing to go for Derek’s throat if he hurts Stiles when Stiles laughs out loud.

Scott takes two steps forward because that’s surely got to be it, but Derek is just confused, and changes back, staring at Stiles as though he were an alien from another planet. A very sarcastic planet, Scott thinks. He can’t believe Stiles could be so brazen, but then he actually thought about what had just happened, and well... yeah, he’d have laughed too if he’d stopped and watched instead of going on the defensive. Isaac is grinning madly, he can see. This was something new.

“Oh my **GOD** ,” Stiles effused, “that was like the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life! Like, you were full out wolf but you were still blue! Your fur was totally blue and you looked ama... it was amazing!” Derek carries on staring. “I cannot believe how cool you looked. Forget the leather jacket man, being a massive bright blue wolf is the best thing. I am so glad I-” He stops suddenly, eyes widening.

“So it was you,” Derek said levelly. “Thank you for lying last night, Stilinski.”

He sounds angry, abnormally angry, and Scott can’t figure out the big deal. I mean, sure, he’d be pissed if Stiles had done it to him, but then he knows Stiles never would in the first place. Maybe that’s the issue here.

“You crossed a line,” Derek continued. “I’m guessing Deaton left you to guard me while I was out, and you decided it was a perfect opportunity to use me like a fucking Barbie doll, is that right?” Stiles looks genuinely shocked. “You know, I thought you were a nuisance at first. An absolute pain in the ass. But you proved your usefulness time and time again and I started thinking you weren’t so bad. Actually began to trust you, despite everything. You just ruined that.”

Stiles looked like he was about to speak, try and defend himself, but Derek didn’t give him chance.

“Get out. Now. I don’t want to see you and your stupid fucking grin ever again. You don’t think I deserve even the slightest bit of respect, so you’re not worth the slightest bit of my time. Go.”

To Scott’s great relief, Stiles doesn’t challenge it. In fact, he doesn’t put up a fight at all, which actually worries him. He just looks hurt and dejected, like he did last night, and Scott maybe puts a few pieces together he hadn’t noticed before. Well shit.

Before he can say anything though, Stiles is out the door, and he hears the door of the Jeep slam shut a few moments later, and then the sound of the engine roaring away at what sounds like a dangerous speed.

“Derek,” he scolds, but he gets roared at as a response.

“Don’t defend him,” Derek yells, “he abused my trust. In fact, just go, both of you. I don’t want to deal with anything right now,” he says, and walks away, his footsteps echoing round the room as he goes. This is bad.

***

Stiles can’t believe he was so stupid to slip up like that. He knew it was coming as soon as he said it, but still. The force of Derek’s anger, and the pain he could feel behind the words, really fucking stung and he was dangerously close to breaking down, so he walked away before anyone could see. He thought Scott was about to follow him, but thankfully he stayed behind.

He’d ruined everything. Derek had actually trusted him, and he’d ruined that. He knew enough about Kate to know exactly how she wormed under his skin and then destroyed his life, and that Derek had major trust issues because of it. But he didn’t know that Derek trusted him, not until then, not until he completely blew it.

He wasn’t watching the road, didn’t even care about the road, so he didn’t see the other car until it was much too late. He span the wheel round manically, veering off the road and into the woods, Jeep careering through the undergrowth like an out of control helicopter, and for a second as the front of the vehicle faced the road Stiles was convinced he saw a flash of silver as the other car headed away. Then the Jeep slammed into a tree, hard. His head flew forward and smashed into the windscreen. Blood ran down it but he didn’t even have chance to freak about it before his head swam, the smell of gas filling his nostrils and making him gag, and it was with a sense of morbid relief that he blacked out, falling against the horn. No more thinking about Derek Fucking Hale, he thought.

The horn blared into the morning air. No one heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things took a turn for the serious, oops.


	5. A Flash Of Silver

Isaac comes back alone a few hours later, tells him that Scott is worried because he hasn’t heard a word from Stiles since he left after what Isaac calls ‘his tantrum’. Derek snarls at him, not able to believe that his own betas are taking someone else’s side on this. Stiles’s side.

“Don’t,” Issac says, rolling his eyes. “If you were so bothered about it, you’d have got rid of it by now.”

The truth was, Derek was anxious about dealing with it. He had no clue whatsoever how to dye over it, and he’d have to go down to the shops and have everyone stare at him. They always did before, but that was because he looked intimidating. Now he just looked crazy.

“You actually kinda like it, don’t you?” Isaac continues, laughing. “You just refuse to admit that you don’t totally hate it because Stiles did it. You two are so...” he trails off, pulling a face because he can’t think up quite the right word to describe them. “Is it him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he grumbles.

Isaac just grins back at him, looking more wolf-like than when he actually shifts. “Thought so.”

Derek can’t be bothered to argue, to point out the million things he hates about that godawful idiot. Like the fact that he actually thought it was okay to just go ahead and do it in the first place. “He made me into a joke,” he says finally.

“No, he didn’t. Everyone thinks it’s cool, Erica was even talking about dyeing her hair as well.” Isaac smiles. “Once she finds out you turn into the cookie monster when you shift, she’s totally gonna want to be a bright pink wolf-bitch.”

Derek just scowls at the nickname. “I am not the cookie monster.”

“Hey, it’s better than blueberry muffin,” Isaac counters, and Derek gets the feeling he knows exactly who thought that one up. He lets out a sigh, feeling exhausted. For someone who slept for four days straight, he’s still majorly tired.

“It’s worse than nothing, too,” he replies lamely. “I’m going down to the store tomorrow to deal with it.”

Sod his anxiety, nicknames were the bane of his current existence. He wasn’t going to give them time to think up any more.

***

It’s the smell that forces her to stop at the side of the road, a smoky tar-like stink that just doesn’t fit in the middle of the woods. Allison gets out of the car, looking around, eyes flashing like she’s hunting prey with her bow. It doesn’t take long before she spots the tyre tracks spiralling across the dirt and breaks into a run, stopping in horror when she finds the Jeep.

Before she can even think she’s in front of the driver’s side door, thanking God that it was the other side of the vehicle that hit the tree, wrenching it open and slicing her hand open on the metal in the process. It doesn’t even register until after she’s shaken Stiles awake, undone his seatbelt and carefully, gently removing him from the car.

She surveys him, thinking dually about his injuries (head injury, glass shards in his arm and chest, but thankfully nothing else she can discover) and the fact that none of the times she’s faced danger and seen Scott and Stiles and the others get hurt compares to this. They’ve all been injured much worse, but by humans or wolves or things with a mind that can stop if they wanted to. Machines don’t have that capability, and she knows Stiles was damn lucky, and it scares her that they could have lost him this way. You can stop a wolf from striking, but you can’t stop a car from crashing.

“Stiles, Stiles, say something!” she exclaims, trying not to cry.

“Ugh, don’t scream so loud, I have the worst headache,” he grunts back after a minute.

“Oh Stiles,” she cries into his shoulder. “What happened?” She knew he wasn’t the best driver, but he was careful enough that this was not just an accident. She can feel it in her gut, the way the tracks drew circles in the soil, none of it feels right.

“I... crashed,” he says. “There was... another car. I swerved to... get out of the way... ended up here.”

He shrugs, face contorting painfully.

“I need to ring an ambulance,” Allison says, and Stiles stumbles towards her in horror.

“Don’t you dare!” he says. “Do you have any idea how much crap I’ll get in from my dad about this if he finds me at the hospital?”

“You’re injured!” she replies. “You can’t just go home.”

“Please, you should already know exactly where I’m expecting you to take me, and it is not the hospital or home,” he says with a scowl.

“Deaton.”

She says the word as neutral as she can manage, but there’s no mistaking her mistrust of the guy. Finding out that he’d known so much more than he was letting on, letting them all blunder about and nearly get killed, knowing that he’d spent so long helping the Hale’s, it was hard to trust someone who was willing to keep so many mysteries even if it was apparently for their own protection. She’d never felt very protected.

“You know he’s the best at this, Al,” Stiles replies, scowl still evident but lessening.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she says in return, because there’s no point putting up a fight, not now. This is all too important.

Stiles needs a little help walking back to her car, but his legs seem otherwise okay so she tries not to be too concerned despite all her misgivings. He gets in the car without too much trouble, and they drive away.

“What are you going to do about the Jeep?” she asks him after they’ve been sat in silence for too long for it to be entirely comfortable. The easy affability they usually have always seems to disappear in a crisis, probably because of her choices back before she understood which side was really looking out for her the most.

“Leave it there, hope Scott or De... or someone picks it up, sorts it out,” he says, forcing the words through his mouth.  Allison does pick up on it, but she decides that now is not the time to be asking what’s going on there.

A car speeds past in the other lane, and Stiles visibly recoils.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, concerned.

“The other car,” he stammers out, breath catching and speeding up.

“Stiles, you need to calm down,” she says. “Steady breaths, come on, you can do this.”

“No, you don’t understand!” he shouts back. “The other car... it was silver.”

“Lots of cars are silver,” she replies, confused. Did he have concussion, should she be a lot more worried?

He stares at her, his forehead creasing and mouth pulling together as his breath goes wildly out of control, and she pulls over as soon as she can, turns to him, grabs his hand and rubs her thumb across the back of it until his breathing gets less laboured. She lets go then, but moves her hand to his shoulder, keeping the contact she knows is important to keep his thoughts there, where they can be talked through.

“What’s so important about the car?” she asks him. “You need to explain what’s wrong.”

“Silver,” he says. “Porsche.”

She can’t help but gasp slightly. “You must...” she starts, but he stops her.

“I saw it after Lydia’s party, and I saw it again, when it drove at me. I swerved because it was coming for me, Allison. A silver Porsche. Jackson’s car.” He nods at her, repeats everything, tries desperately to get her to believe.

“Jackson is back, Allison. And he tried to kill me.”

***

The basement is mouldy, and even through the gag Erica can taste the damp.

She can’t remember how the hell she managed to get here, only knowing she was tied up and gagged when she awoke, and that she couldn’t shift. Rolling her eyes painfully sideways at the first noise she heard, she saw for the briefest of seconds that Boyd was in a similar state to her. Fuck, she thinks.

She assumes that whatever made her blackout and end up here is also whatever afflicted Derek, except for the fairytale ending. She can’t see anything else in this basement though so has no idea where she is and why she’s here, or why no one can sense that she’s nearby. Surely Derek must know she’s missing, must know they’re both missing.

The Cleopatra costume is really starting to get uncomfortable, and she’s really hating how much she was looking forward to the stupid fancy dress party now that she’s trapped in ridiculous outfit for so long.

Light blinds her suddenly, and she almost falls backwards out of shock, her eyes unused to the brightness.

“Oh good, one of you is awake,” a voice says, and she’s suddenly terrified. Because she knows that voice. She knows that voice far too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had a struggle working out where this was going, and a small family emergency, but they're both sorted and I have the final chapters storyboarded now, it's just a case of working out how long it will take to get there! The next chapter will hopefully be a bit less serious than these past couple, too, since there's so much inherent ridiculousness going on!
> 
> Thank you for all the bookmarks and comments, too! It's great knowing people are liking this, and helps me keep going with it.


	6. Aisle Four

He knew ignoring Deaton’s pleas to stay rested for a few days would probably bite him in the ass, but his near-death experience had made him realise that he did not want to die with Derek Hale refusing to acknowledge his existence. He’d prefer not to die until he’d managed to tap that, but he decided to start with a vaguely realistic goal.

Which is why he was here, at the mall, a place he didn’t visit often because it wasn’t somewhere known for its murders or supernatural battles. It was, however, known for its health and beauty shops, like the one Stiles had bought all the dye he needed last week, when everything was normal and before yet another chapter in the saga of his crazy lycan-infested life had begun.

So despite having his arm bandaged up and a rather pronounced limp in his right leg, he’d snuck out before his dad could realise that he was bruised from head to toe, and caught the bus to the mall. The bus. He hadn’t had to do that in a long time, and it had not been pleasant. Even he, master of constant inane chatter, couldn’t keep up with the mad old lady who’d sat next to him and told him all about her dachshund for seventeen interminable stops.

The walk through the mall had made his leg flare up, so he’d sat and eaten, and eaten some more, and then had to rest for another half an hour for being such a fat ass. Even his powers of procrastination were against him today, because he just wanted to walk in and then walk out again five minutes later with what he’d came for - black hair dye, which he could then place on Derek’s doorstep with a little note apologising, because like hell was he actually handing it to him and speaking to him. He doubted even his obviously banged-up state would make much difference there, considering it wasn’t exactly the first time.

The trouble was, he couldn’t find the damn colour. There was a million microscopically different shades of blonde and brown and plenty of reds and the occasional purple, but absolutely no black to be seen. He knew it was sold here, he just needed to find-

He’d been literally lying on the floor, shoving yet more Chocolate Truffle and Chestnut Honey boxes out of the way when his hand grasped around one that said “BLACK” on it but felt more like a triumphant gold statue, and he raised it up in the air like he’d actually won something. If he played his cards right, it would be Derek’s heart. And then he was convinced that Derek had a radar whenever Stiles so much as thought his name, because his voice echoed down the next aisle.

“Oh no, sorry,” he hears the flustered assistant say, “this is aisle five, you need aisle four.”

There’s a grunt in response, and _oh shit_ Stiles needs to get out of here right now, because he’s in aisle four and he’s pretty sure Derek will stomp all over him like an angry bull if he finds him here. But his leg is just refusing to work, so he has to drag himself along the floor like a dying seal, and he’s pretty sure an accurate vocal representation of one just escaped from his mouth as well.

He knows when Derek has turned the corner, and he prays to Lydia, goddess that she is, that he didn’t notice a pair of feet sweeping across the floor at the other end of the aisle. He sits, hunched against the plastic advert for some sort of intimate cream he feels slightly uncomfortable leaning against, but damnit his leg is being the worst right now.

First of all he can’t get up, then he starts to find it increasingly difficult to leave when he can hear Derek angrily batting boxes left and right, hunting for that elusive black hair dye that is actually sat in Stiles’s hand, less an Academy award now but a weight threatening to drown him in guilt.

He should just get up, walk over, go “here’s what you’re looking for” and walk away, but he knows that too much time has passed, and Derek would not appreciate the fact that Stiles has sat and listened to him look for five minutes already before going to help. Plus, he’d have to explain what he was doing here in the first place...

“Do you need some help?”

The assistant that had walked Derek over here is now stood frowning at him, not sure whether to call security or an ambulance. He just glowers at her, sends telepathic messages to her brain that clearly she doesn’t receive because she actually bends down and he’s too distracted by a flash of cleavage to stop her from trying to lift him up.

“I’m fine,” he hisses, “I’m hiding.”

He can almost feel Derek’s head snap round at the sound of his voice despite how quiet he was being, and just like that his leg comes back to life, clearly a survival instinct kicking in. He throws himself into the next aisle, picks himself up, and flees. He knows when Derek reaches where he’d been sat, can see him sprinting away because there’s a low roar but he daren’t look back, keeps running and running and doesn’t even realise he’s still holding the hair dye until he’s halfway across the mall and realises there’s two security guards giving him very odd looks before going to their radios and walking purposefully towards him. He grabs his phone as quickly as he can while he’s still running because maybe he can outrun them, hits the green button.

“Hi, dad,” he pants into the phone, “I kind of need your help...”

There’s a beleaguered sigh from the other end, tinny and faint, and then his dad’s voice.

“What now, Stiles?”

***

Derek cannot believe what he just witnessed.

“Do you know him?” the assistant asks.

“Unfortunately,” he bites back, because he’s almost sure Stiles has a box of the exact hair dye he was after in his hands as he runs straight out of the store without paying. The boy had a knack for trouble, he knew that, but this was ridiculous even by his standards. What was he even doing here anyway? Probably making sure Derek couldn’t change his stupid hair back.

“Were you looking for something in particular?” the assistant simpers, and Derek can hear the flirtation like it was a jet taking off. She’s pretty, but blonde isn’t his type, not any more. Neither is female, he amends.

“Black hair dye,” he says, “but I think you just ran out.”

She laughs like he made a joke, then he realises belatedly he did because it had literally done that.

“Surely you aren’t planning on getting rid of that amazing hair?” she asks. “It must have taken a lot of work, and it looks great! It brings out the colour of your eyes.”

“Thank you, but I haven’t got much of a positive response about it generally,” he replies, “so I’ll just find somewhere that sells it. Good day,” he mutters as he walks away scowling. Fucking Stiles. Why did he have to be so goddamn infuriating all the time? It’d be a lot easier to deal with if he wasn’t.

As it turns out, he’s completely wrong about the response. He hadn’t actually been in public until now, and after he watches two groups of girls giggle to each other, and then a thirty-year old man walk into a door because he couldn’t stop ogling him, he has to admit that maybe he’s going about this all wrong.

Scott and Isaac had said everyone thought it was cool, and there were people literally falling over themselves to come and talk to him and tell him how hot he looks. That’s seriously what the woman had said, before flushing scarlet and walking away. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t enjoying it just a little. Even Stiles had been appreciative, which was of course the most important thing, even if he was definitely sticking to not forgiving him for as long as humanly possible.

Just because he wanted Stiles so close to him, so close that their breath would intermingle before their mouths would meet - re-meet, he grumbles to himself. Anyway, this was all beside the point. Stiles had no respect for Derek, and he’d have to learn to show some before he even acted on his feelings. If he ever did.

***

“Thanks dad,” he says before he puts the phone down. He glances up to the two security guards. “Can I go now? I swear I’ll go and pay for this straight away, I just got a bit carried away avoiding somebody.”

The guards looked at each other. They’d never known anything quite like today, but the sheriff had personally vouched for the good intentions of this kid, so they would give him a chance. “One of us is walking back there with you to make sure,” the first guy says, the taller one.

He’s beginning to think the game of rock paper scissors that follows will never end, plus get more and more offended that both guards are so desperate to avoid being the one who actually goes with him, when finally the second guard, the bulkier shorter one, hits the first guys scissors with a rock and it’s all over.

“Damn it,” he mutters, “c’mon kid, let’s go.”

***

“Stiles!”

He’s heading back to the bus stop, leg feeling sore and achy again from all the running, when someone shouts him and his thoughts instantly lighten up. Scott and Danny are jogging up to meet him, Scott giving him a friendly punch to the shoulder in greeting that nevertheless manages to knock him off-balance and Danny is forced to catch him.

“Sorry dude,” Scott apologises, “Allison told me about the crash, you alright? I would have come round last night but she told me you needed rest.” He frowns at him, suddenly realising that hanging out here doesn’t count as resting.

“Not too bad,” he lies, “just going for the bus now.”

“Forget about it,” Danny says immediately, “you can catch a ride with us.”

Stiles was privately hoping that one of them would offer, but lets himself get talked into it anyway. Thank god for sympathetic friends.

“So where’s Isaac?” Stiles asks, intrigued to see these two together without him. Danny goes to answer and Stiles says “I meant Scott!” before his brain can stop itself. The awkward silence that follows means that Scott totally heard Allison at the dance, and that this whole trip is probably based on some ‘look there’s nothing going on there’ type bullshit. Which he just made worse.

“Wow, I’m really outdoing myself on the fucking things up front today,” he says lightly. “Still, this doesn’t beat making Derek hate me even more and accidentally getting busted for shoplifting and having to get my dad to get me out of it,” he continues, “which I’m sure won’t get mentioned at all when I get home.”

The other two just stare at him.

“Look it really wasn’t my fault,” he starts, but Scott interrupts.

“Derek doesn’t hate you, he’s just angry at you. You always get so melodramatic when you-” He sees Stiles’s eyes widen in shock, but ploughs ahead anyway. “When you like someone. It’s really obvious,” he adds when Stiles opens and closes his mouth like a fish.

Danny nods wisely. “It is.”

“I don’t, well, I mean-” he tries to save this, but he can’t, so he slumps in his seat. “Fine. I do. Happy now?”

“No,” Scott says, “he’s an ass. But I’m glad you’ve admitted it, Danny says it’s important to not lie to yourself about...”

So that’s what their little trip is all about, Stiles thinks. Not Isaac, him. He’s not sure if he’s pleased or upset that Scott is going around asking for advice on his behalf, especially about something he really doesn’t want everyone finding out about.

“I’m not gay, Scott,” he says suddenly. “I’ve been in love with Lydia since forever, remember?”

“You still like Derek,” Danny says, “so there’s something you need to come to terms with. Plus, since you think Scott only came to me because he thought you were gay and needed some advice because apparently all I can do is talk about gay things, I’d like to point out you’re wrong. He came to me about something else.”

“It was kinda related,” Scott squints, and Danny actually frowns. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen Danny annoyed since Jackson had left. Oh crap, Jackson. He needed to tell Scott about the whole thing, but then remembered that Allison probably would have. Maybe that’s what he was talking to Danny about... but that wouldn’t be related to him possibly being gay (which he wasn’t) so he was all kinds of lost.

“Explain,” he says eventually.

“I was worried,” Scott says, “that I’d been offensive the other night. Allison said I sounded kinda homophobic the other night so I was making sure I hadn’t upset anyone. It’s all cool though,” he says with his goofiest smile, “Danny says he wouldn’t be thrilled about kissing some girl so he’d probably complain then too.”

“Like I said before,” Danny deadpans, “people can talk to me about things unrelated to my sexuality. Any time.” Scott had the decency to look embarrassed.

“I’m glad you got all that sorted out,” Stiles says, changing the subject. “And thank you for the advice, but I don’t need to come to terms with anything. I like Derek, he isn’t interested, I’m more than familiar with this scenario so I can cope just fine.”

“Even when you accidentally steal hair dye you’re going to use as an apology?” Danny says, and for a moment Stiles thinks he’s got some kind of psychic superpower before he realises the dye fell out of the bag on the floor of the car.

“If only it were that simple,” he whines, and regales them with his fantastic tale. To his relief, they don’t laugh too much. “So now he thinks I’m like buying up all the dye so he can’t change it back,” he ends his story, and they both turn to give him a look.

“Just tell him the truth,” Danny says.

“For once,” Scott adds helpfully.

“Easier said than done,” Stiles replies, but he still gets them to drop him outside the apartment instead of his house.

“I’m gonna get killed at my own home by my dad anyway, may as well try and stop him getting arrested for murder by letting Derek do it instead,” he says with false cheer as he exits the car.

“Good luck,” Scott shouts as he drives away.

He’s going to need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah, some humour! 
> 
> Hopefully this isn't terrible because it's extremely late and I have no idea how much sense some of this makes. Just go with it.


	7. You Don't Love Me Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve been on Danny’s gaydar forever darling, and I would hope your best friend would work it out before me anyway, or you’d be terrible friends. I guess this means you don’t love me anymore?” she pouts.   
> He doesn’t bother humouring her with a response.

He walks up to the door, not even sure why he’s here. He doesn’t think it will do any good, but it’s not right to keep it hidden, even if it will just make everything worse. He’s just tired of keeping secrets. He knocks.

“Stiles? I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, “but we need to talk.”

“Oh.”

Lydia looks nervous, and Stiles realises he’s still on edge from his earlier conversation. “Sorry,” he says. “I had to deal with Derek earlier, and I’m still not sure what the hell happened there. Then I know my dad is going to kill me when he sees me, so I guess I’m avoiding going home and I... I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about a lot of things,” he finishes, his head slightly bowed.

“What happened?” she replies, her voice free of its usual brusqueness. “Come in, sit down, tell me.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he starts, but she cuts him off with a wave of her finger.

“No,” she said, “but I doubt I’ll get much sense out of you until you tell me why you’re so worked up in the first place. So get your ass inside, let me borrow a couple of glasses and a bottle from my dad’s liquor cabinet, and let’s talk.”

It’s a tempting offer, and maybe it’d be good to get a new perspective on the situation.

“Okay,” he says, “you’ve twisted my arm. As per.”

She gives him a beatific smile, and leads him upstairs. After a moment of hesitation, she points firmly at the spot next to her on the bed, and he sits down, nervous and agitated but not for the usual reasons. He’s just not sure if he can bring himself to say what happened out loud.

“Spill,” Lydia says, “how bad can it be?”

***

He walks up to the door, not even sure why he’s here. He doesn’t think it will do any good, but it’s not right to let things stay like this, even if it will just make everything worse. He’s just tired of the whole sorry mess. He knocks.

“Stiles,” Derek says with no trace of emotion. “I’m surprised you have the nerve to show up.”

His throat was still in his own body and not in between Derek’s teeth, which he took to be a positive sign.

“Can I come in?” he says bravely. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“I’d say no, but I doubt you’d listen. That would involve respecting my wishes.”

It takes all his strength to not just walk away right then. He hates that he’s hurt Derek so much, he hates that there’s no explanation that can make any kind of sense, and he hates the most that he’s annoyed with Derek for being annoyed with him, and for not understanding that Stiles doesn’t mean the shit he does personally.

“This is important,” he says, “so for once, you’re right. I wouldn’t listen.”

He’s just twisting the knife even further, making it harder to pull clean and heal, but he’s not having the conversation on the doorstep, so he isn’t left with much other choice. His eyes keep betraying him, straying up to Derek’s hair and he knows how bad it must look, but he can’t tear them away. It just adds to his otherworldly handsomeness, like he’s stepped from the pages of some Japanese manga to be the perfect wounded anti-hero. He wishes he had the nerves to say it.

Derek steps to the side and glowers as Stiles pushes past, throws himself into the battered old sofa with more determination than he actually feels.

“I’m sorry,” he forces out, because despite it’s authenticity, it’s not something he’s all that comfortable with doing, apologising. “I should never have done it, and I wish I could say I knew _why_ I did, but I don’t. I brought you this,” he adds, shoving the box of hair dye out at him like it caused him pain to hold it.

Derek frowns, not angry but confused, Stiles can tell.

“You got round to paying for it then?” he smirks, before tempering it back into his usual scowl.

“Look, I don’t know what you thought earlier, but I swear it was nothing bad,” Stiles stammers. “I was always getting this for you, and my leg was playing up, and...”

“You’ve decided you’ve had enough amusement, so now I’m allowed this, is that it?”

“No!” he shouts, “not at all, why are you so convinced that I think you’re a joke?”

“Hmm, let me think. Is it the fact that you’ve treated me like a joke for months, allowed me to look ridiculous and pathetic to the rest of my pack, or that you can’t even understand simple instructions such as ‘go away and stay away’ that makes me think you don’t even consider me worthy of your respect?”

He spat the words out, and Stiles visibly recoiled.

“I, I...”

“Save it, Stiles. You can’t just apologise and make it all go away. You can’t bring this to me and expect me to be grateful that you’ve decided it should end. I’ll get rid of this hair when I damn well choose to, not when you decide for me, understood? Is that all you had to say? Because if it was, then I believe we’re done here.”

Stiles felt sick, right to his core. He’d made things worse, somehow. It wasn’t even that Derek was angry at him - if anything Derek was forcing himself to be angry with him, but that didn’t make things better at all. He thought he was doing a brilliant job of playing the furious alpha, but there were tells. His eyebrows stayed furrowed, and his mouth twitched into a sad sigh whenever he took a breath.

“That wasn’t it,” Stiles says. “But thank you for the clarification.”

***

“Wow,” Lydia says, “and you’re sure he’s just acting out?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, “I know him well enough for that.”

She looks at him, a sad look on her face, her lip twitching as if holding back a thousand words.

“I know you well enough too, Stiles, and I know that look all too well,” she says at last. “Especially from you. You do know you’re supposed to pull someone’s hair when you like them and don’t know how to show it, not dye it, right?” She looks over at him with a predatory grin. “Don’t do your classic ‘flail and deny’ either, it won’t work. You have the hots for Hale, admit it.”

“I wasn’t about to,” he huffs. “Scott and Danny already worked it out, so you’ve got some catching up to do.”

“You’ve been on Danny’s gaydar forever darling, and I would hope your best friend would work it out before me anyway, or you’d be terrible friends. I guess this means you don’t love me anymore?” she pouts.

He doesn’t bother humouring her with a response.

“Fat lot of good it did me, telling me Derek doesn’t hate me. They lied.”

“He doesn’t hate you. If he did he wouldn’t play the same stupid games you do. Admittedly, slamming your head into a steering wheel is a tad extreme, but this is the same guy who is purposefully pretending to be furious with you when he secretly likes what you did.”

He can’t help but flail and deny then. Damn her. She just rolls her eyes in response.

“I knew it’d turn up sooner or later. You think all that bullcrap about ‘I’ll decide when I get rid of it’ is seriously all because he’s so stubborn he’d keep it just to spite your apology?”

Stiles looks at her. “You clearly haven’t met Derek,” he says sardonically.

“Okay, maybe partly,” she admits. “But it’s also because he likes it, half his anger is probably at the fact that you did such a good job. Anyway,” she says as if coming out of a daze, “you haven’t even told me what was so important that you plowed through that apology to get to it.”

“Ah,” Stiles replies. “Yeah. That was actually the reason I came here, too. Everyone keeps deciding that Derek drama is more important though,” he scowls. “It really isn’t.”

Lydia looks intrigued. “Do spill.”

“I don’t think you’ll like it,” Stiles says uneasily.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

***

“So what is it?” Derek spits. “Stop wasting my time and tell me so you can go.”

“I was in a crash a couple of days ago,” he says. “Allison found me, I’m surprised Scott didn’t tell you.”

“He mentioned it,” Derek replies. “I’m not sure why it’s important.”

“You don’t get why it’s important that Jackson ran me off the road? I know I’m critical of your skills but that just seems-”

“What?” Derek snaps. “Scott never mentioned that, just that you’d been in an accident.”

“I was ran off the road by a silver Porsche, and there aren’t exactly many of them rolling around Beacon Hills on a regular basis. I saw it the night of the party at Lydia’s, too,” he says. “Oh, and thanks for the get well card by the way,” he snipes. Derek just rolls his eyes.

“Why would he do that?” Derek asks. A fair question, one that he hadn’t actually thought of until now. Sure, he hadn’t left on the best of terms with everyone. But it didn’t mean he had any reason to come back into town and try and murder him.

“This isn’t right,” Derek continues. “Have you heard off Boyd or Erica? They haven’t been to see me at all since I woke up. I thought it was just because they were afraid, but now...”

“Dude, like Erica would ever be afraid of you,” Stiles says, before blinking furiously in annoyance at himself. “That’s not what I meant,” he says to two battling eyebrows. “I meant that she’s fearless, and if nobody has heard off her, then things are not good. Not good at all.”

“Correct,” Derek says, “thank you for warning me about this. You can go now.”

Stiles is incredulous. “Seriously? You don’t think-”

“On the contrary, I’ve thought about this a lot, and it always ends with you needing to go away. I still have Scott and Isaac to help me with this, I don’t need any interference from anyone else.” He stares unkindly at Stiles.

“Fine,” Stiles says, “I won’t help. Good luck losing your pack to your own stubbornness, you dick.”

He walks out without another word.

***

He isn’t sure what sort of reaction he expects from Lydia, but this isn’t it.

“What the hell is he doing back?” she exclaims. “He promised me he’d stay the hell away, said he could barely forgive himself for all the danger I was put in because of him. He wouldn’t try to kill you, either, he doesn’t hate you that much.”

“Strangely that doesn’t make me feel much better,” Stiles replies.

“Well, you know what we need to do,” she says. “Find him and see what the hell he’s playing at. This is weird even for him.”

Stiles just shrugs. He’s not sure he thinks anything is past Jackson at this point, but everyone else seems so sure. “What exactly are we supposed to do?” he asks. “Neither of us is the action hero type, let’s be honest.”

“We’ll have help,” she says, almost gleefully. “I know exactly who to call.”

***

The door opens, and Erica’s eyes close reflexively, avoiding the light. She doesn’t know how long she’s been here, or even why she is here. He hasn’t done anything to them, just left them here. Boyd is awake now, just about, but he’s in bad shape and she wishes he’d do something to help him. At least he gives them food and water occasionally, but it isn’t enough. She feels weak and so Boyd must feel a hell of a lot worse.

When her eyes adjust, she’s horrified. He’s dragging someone down the stairs roughly, their hands bound and a nasty blow to the back of the head. She recognises the back of that head. She doesn’t know how, but he’s got another one of them.

“Three down, one to go,” he says with a smile, throwing Isaac down next to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'll start moving this along more soon, and everyone will stop having endless conversations.
> 
> Thank you again for the bookmarks and kudos and comments, they all mean an awful lot! My tumblr is [oddthomasxxiii](http://oddthomasxxiii.tumblr.com) if anyone's interested in chatting there!


	8. We Helped Him

“I don’t even understand why you need my help.”

“I thought it’d be pretty obvious,” Stiles replies, “I mean, we’re not exactly the Avengers here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Danny says. “I’d look awesome in a Captain America costume.”

“Please say I’m Black Widow,” Lydia adds. “And she needs her Hawkeye.”

She looks over to Allison, winks flirtatiously, and Stiles for a second feels the familiar twinge. He reins it in and laughs with the others, including Allison. She still isn’t convinced though.

“How did they rope you into it?” she asks Danny.

“If Jackson is behind all this crap, I want to be the one who kicks his damn stupid ass all over this town,” he replies matter of factly. “Plus I’m worried about Isaac, I haven’t heard a thing off him for nearly twenty-four hours. I don’t even know what he thinks he’s playing at kidnapping werewolves. Stupid idiot.”

“Get in line,” Lydia says viciously. “These shoes will hurt far more than yours.”

“I still don’t understand...”

“Allison, not only are you a badass with a bow and arrow, but you were about the only other person Jackson genuinely seemed to like,” Danny replies before she can repeat herself again. “Plus do you really think he’s gonna stop now?”

“I guess not,” she acquiesces. “Scott isn’t going to happy about me helping you guys out though. You know how protective he is.”

“Unnecessarily,” Stiles says, and it works. The tiniest smile curls on her lips, and he knows she’s stopped fighting them. “Now come on, we need to get to my house to start the plan.”

“Which is?” she says.

“I’ll explain on the way,” he replies, and she nods.

“Fine, I’ll come,” she says as she climbs in the car. “Scott’s asleep upstairs so I won’t bother waking him, especially not when it’ll cause an argument. He won’t even notice I’ve gone.”

***

The plan was simple, as Stiles explained to them on the way. First, they’d go to his house, since the sheriff was now back at work and he could safely avoid him for another evening. Then, they’d get Danny to phone up and report Jackson’s car stolen, say he’d lent it to him before he left town, and then listen out on the radio for any sightings, drive to the place and use Allison’s fine archery skills to subdue him long enough to rescue everyone and then work out what to do with him.

Even Lydia was impressed, but unfortunately for Stiles, there was the long amount of time between them phoning up, and anyone actually spotting the car. Which meant the others seemed to decide telepathically that there was only one thing they could talk about in the meantime.

“Stiles, I’m going to say this as nicely as possible,” Allison says, and he winces before she finishes her sentence. “but why Derek?” He sinks into the seat, resigning himself to hours of hell.

“He’s hot,” Danny says, then shrugs when they all look at him. “Don’t pretend you don’t think so. Just... try and forget his personality, it’s obviously what Stiles is doing.”

“Gee thanks, Danny.”

“Any time,” he replies. “Well, that’s not true, but you know. Whenever I’m around, not any other time.”

“I can see why you and Jackson got along so well,” Stiles bites back, but Danny just laughs.

“Did you think I was all sweetness and light?” he says. “You poor thing. No wonder you can manage to have a thing for the moodiest asshole you know.”

“I hope you’re not insinuating anything about me there,” Lydia chimes in, and he grins at her.

“Would I?”

“He’s not going to be any good for you,” Allison says seriously. “You can’t _change_ him, Stiles. You know how damaged he is, and even though he doesn’t hate you like you think, he’s obviously got some issue with you that he keeps taking everything you do so seri... oh.”

Lydia rolls her eyes as if to say _oh finally someone else has worked it out_. “Oh good, it’s not just me that think it’s mutual then.”

“What?!” he explodes. “Derek does not like me back. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh poor precious angel,” Lydia says, not at all sympathetically. “I, that is we, think he does.”

“I’m not convinced,” Allison argues, “and even if he does, that’s not going to make all this okay. He’s still a pretty awful person,” she says, and Stiles finds it hard to defend him. “He doesn’t give a damn about anyone except pack, and he isn’t exactly exploding with rainbows and kittens at them either. Tell me you’re gonna move on from this, Stiles, please.”

“You sound like my-” he starts. “Never mind. You’re wrong, he isn’t interested. Can we drop it please?”

Fate was his friend at that moment, as the scanner shouted out that a silver Porsche matching the description of the stolen vehicle had been spotted.

“I thought we were going to be here for hours,” he says, “thank you Jackson.”

The others all shoot him dirty looks, but he doesn’t care. They were being judgemental and parent-y, well Allison was, and despite what he thought of her the other night it didn’t give her a right to tell him how to live his life and what mistakes he should and shouldn’t make. Even though Derek would undoubtedly be the biggest one possible.

“Wait, where did they say the car was?” Allison says.

“I think it was Barnes, you know the one next to... Scott’s...”

Danny got it before the others did.

“Scott was asleep,” he says. The others look at him, baffled.

“So? I can just text him and tell him to be on the lookout...”

“No, you don’t get it,” he says, more urgently. “Scott was asleep. Derek was asleep for days. The last thing Isaac texted me was that he was really tired and going to sleep. There’s got to be a link there.”

“We need to go,” Lydia says, clearly agreeing with his prognosis. “Right now.”

***

They’re far enough away that they can’t get out and run down the street, but they’re near enough to see Scott being bundled into the back of a Porsche, bound and gagged, by a hooded Jackson. Lydia slams her foot down and they blast down the road, but they’ve been spotted and he jumps into the car and powers off in front of them.

“Shit!” exclaims Stiles, furious with himself. “We helped him.”

“What do you mean?” Allison asks.

“You don’t think it’s coincidence that everyone has been asleep, right? That he just happened to show up here when Scott would be asleep and unable to defend himself? He’s probably been waiting for Scott to be alone and then we dragged Allison away and gave him his chance.” He put his head in his hands.

“It’s not like we knew,” Lydia says as they burst round a corner without warning, nearly cracking Danny’s head against the window. The Porsche is still in view but further away, and Stiles already knows this battle is hopeless but he can’t bring himself to want to give up.

“We did know! We knew exactly what was wrong with Derek and we didn’t even do anything to avoid it happening again! Ugh, how the hell are we supposed to sort this out if we can’t even protect ourselves against one person?”

The Porsche is a mere silver speck in the distance but Lydia puts her foot down and soon, after a couple of close calls, it’s near enough to read the number plate. Danny looks grave.

“It’s definitely his car,” he says, because there had always been that small hope in the back of everyone’s heads. “Jackson is behind this.”

They turn the corner after the Porsche at high speed, and Lydia shouts and swerves almost off the road. Stiles’s eyes squeeze shut instantaneously, and it takes all he has to not break out into sheer panic immediately. This is all too similar to the other day, and the bruises from that have barely begun to fade. Blue light floods the windows and forces them back open to see the source of it. He groans when he sees it. The sheriff’s vehicle.

“He’s getting away,” Allison moans, the reality of it all sinking in. Scott is gone, like the others.

“There’s not much I can do, Stiles’s dad is blocking the path,” Lydia says through gritted teeth.

This isn’t going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this chapter was hard work considering it's not that long or involved, but I knew what was going to happen with Scott, just not the plan to set up them realising what was happening, and it bugged me for days.
> 
> Anyway, Team Human are on the case now! The Sheriff isn't going to be happy with them though...


	9. Worldviews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has a bad feeling about this. Derek usually announces his presence to avoid exactly this kind of panic which, now Stiles thinks about it, meant Derek knew about his panic attacks and actually considered them before being a creeper. Huh. Still, it didn’t answer the question of what exactly had woken him just now.
> 
> Then there was a noise. A bad noise. A noise he’d heard before, and desperately wanted never to hear again.
> 
> A low hiss permeated the room.

Stiles is glad that his dad actually listened to him, really he is. It’s just that it’s opened up a whole new world of problems and, even worse, he’s having to let Derek into the house in order to validate all his seemingly wild claims.

“Mister Hale,” the sheriff says, clearly battling with his reserve. “My son, who as you know has a penchant for bending the truth into unfathomable complex shapes, tells me that the reason I found him in a car that almost crashed into mine at over a hundred miles per hour is because the person in that car, Jackson Whittemore, is a former member of your werewolf pack who has kidnapped the rest of it. So please, tell me he’s lying so I can ground him for the rest of his life.”

The silence that follows is enough of an answer.

“You’re... a werewolf,” he says, and Derek nods briefly in response. “Who else?”

“I already told you, dad. Scott, Isaac, Erica and Boyd. Jackson as well, obviously.”

“Who else _knows_? And I was asking Derek.”

“Lydia, Danny, Allison and her family. Mrs. McCall. Deaton, the vet. I think that’s everyone,” Derek replies dully, his eyes flashing hatred at Stiles. Great, Stiles thinks, yet more reason for him to hate me. But his dad surprises them both.

“I get the feeling this may explain an awful lot of goings on I just couldn’t wrap my head around,” he says finally. “Thank god for that. I was losing way too much sleep over all that crap.”

Stiles balks, pretty sure his eyes are going to be like those in cartoons and pop out of his head comically. His dad, the sheriff of this town, is completely unperturbed. There’s something there, though, not quite making it’s way to the surface, and Stiles is not sure how his dad is going to be once Derek gets out of there.

“Seriously, _that’s_ your response?” Stiles says, because he can’t keep his mouth shut right now.

“Me and you, we need to sit down together and talk sometime,” his dad says, ignoring him and talking directly to Derek, who looks uncomfortable about the whole thing, “because I think there’s a lot you need to tell me. I’m not sure I actually want to know what you’ve been covering up, but if Stiles is involved I’m going to guess it isn’t for any terrible reasons.”

Derek looks as if he wants to run, say no and bolt, but he knows he can’t so he releases a tiny sigh that nevertheless seems to echo round the room as he agrees to having a conversation about past events. “One condition though,” he says, bravely.

“Go on.”

“Keep Stiles away from it in future,” Derek responds. Stiles knew it was coming, had braced himself for it so it didn’t hurt, but it did anyway, just a tiny nagging ache deep in his gut. His dad, however, was full of surprises tonight.

“I don’t think I could if I tried,” he says, “especially not with Scott involved.”

There’s a twinge of something again there, and this time Stiles is pretty sure he knows what. Scott’s mum knew, and kept it from him. It was a pretty big secret to hide.

“I’d rather you tried,” Derek says coldly. “His interference isn’t exactly welcome.”

“Really?” his dad replied. “Let me tell you something Derek. Just some friendly advice. My son is a lot of things, not all of them wonderful joyous attributes to be celebrated. Don’t look so hurt, you know exactly what I mean. Anyway, what I want to say is that he usually has a very good reason for doing what he does.”

“He dyed my hair blue while I was asleep,” Derek deadpans.

“It looks surprisingly nice,” the sheriff says, no trace of anything on his face. “And I admit, he’s lost me on that one. But my son only ever interferes with something worth protecting in the first place. Even if it isn’t obvious at first, he’s never been wrong with his instincts about the people worth keeping around. Just think about that.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say, and it shows. In the end, he just nods, agrees to call and arrange a meeting and then leaves.

“Dad,” Stiles starts, but is cut off instantly with a look.

“Save your talk, I’m not as angry as you think I am. Oh, and don’t think I can’t tell what’s really going on between you two, as long as you spare me the details. I’d rather you weren’t involved with a, with a _werewolf_ , but since I’m dating a werewolf’s mother, I’m not in much of a position to argue.”

“Dad, I’m not dating Derek! I’m not anything with Derek,” Stiles says, trying not to sound mopey and failing, “he hates me.”

“I’d hate you too if you dyed my hair, but I’d get over it, and so will he. He probably already was doing until you landed him right in by blabbing his secrets. Anyway, I gave him something to think about, and I think he already knows he’d do well to take my advice very seriously.”

“I cannot believe my dad is trying to set me up,” Stiles groans.

“Just hope you’re un-grounded by the time he asks you out,” his dad smiles, “now get upstairs and plan out all the homework you can catch up on with your newfound free time.”

***

He isn’t sure exactly what it is that jolts him awake, other than a creeping sense of unease.

“Derek,” he says, “I know it’s you. It’s always you.”

Silence. Maybe Stiles made that sound slightly more contemplative than he intended, but it still wasn’t enough to keep Derek quiet. After all, he was the one who’d come skulking in in the middle of the night, probably to berate him for spilling the beans... wasn’t he?

He has a bad feeling about this. Derek usually announces his presence to avoid exactly this kind of panic which, now Stiles thinks about it, meant Derek knew about his panic attacks and actually considered them before being a creeper. Huh. Still, it didn’t answer the question of what exactly had woken him just now.

Then there was a noise. A bad noise. A noise he’d heard before, and desperately wanted never to hear again.

A low hiss permeated the room.

He wants so much to be brave and reckless like normal, but right now he can’t bear anything other than to bury himself under the covers like it would form an effective barrier against it. He peers out, his eyes no doubt reflecting in the moonlight like targets, but he needs to see, needs to know.

There it is. The tail drops down across the window. The kanima is back. He screams.

***

“Stiles!”

He’s jolted awake for the second time in a minute.

“Derek, what are you... where is it? The kanima, where is it?” he shouts, panicky.

“There is no kanima, Stiles, you were dreaming,” Derek replies, not quite meeting Stiles’s eyes.

“You!” Stiles brandishes the word like a deadly weapon. “You sneaked in here and made me have nightmares! What do you even want?” he asked, fearless now he knew it was just his imagination projecting.

“Your dad...” Derek says. He looks as though he’s about to say something grand, something important, but he stops, still not able to meet Stiles’s eyes. “What did you mean, what you said?” he demands.

“What I said?”

“Yes. ‘Derek, I know it’s you, it’s always you.’ What does that mean?”

Oh crap, apparently he’d been sleep talking again.

“It meant, erm, that even in my dream I assumed you were creeping around in my room and funnily enough, it turned out to be entirely accurate.” Derek huffs, and Stiles notices the disappointment now, something he probably wouldn’t have seen before.

Shit, everyone was right - of course they were, but fuck. They were right.

“Why are you here?” he repeats, hoping Derek is going to tell him the truth, but of course he doesn’t.

“I think I know where they are,” he says instead, which is exactly what Stiles was not expecting.

He feels terrible about the surprise he feels that Derek managed to do it, and do it alone. Even if Derek were to tell him everything about how he seems to feel, what would Stiles even do with that, since he’s been right all along. He hasn’t given Derek anywhere near the amount of respect he should. So what does he deserve?

“Why are you telling me?” he says, catches himself and stops. “That didn’t, I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what you want me to do. Earlier you were telling my dad to keep me the hell away from all this and now you’re here to, what, ask for help? I don’t get you, man,” he adds, both intrigued and despondent.

“You always help, even when nobody wants you to. I think we’ve both been pretty wrong about each other.”

Derek pauses, his eyes flicking left to right, barely perceptible as though running through lines from a script in his head. Because of it, his usual stoic mask fell away and Stiles could see actual emotion running across his face. It was beautiful to witness, he knew that much.

“I wanted to apologise. I don’t forgive you, not properly, for what you did. But I know you didn’t mean any harm and I’m sorry I overreacted so much. Now will you help me get them back?”

It would do.

“Of course, you doofus. I can’t believe you’re _asking_ me for help!”

“That makes two of us.”

“Jackass,” Stiles says, punching Derek softly in the shoulder.

Derek stares at the spot.

“Still can’t do that, huh?”

“Nope,” Derek replies.

“Right.” Stiles frowns. “I better call the others, they’re not gonna be happy about timing but whatever.”

“The others? That wasn’t part of the...”

“For once, just trust me! We need them.”

“Okay.”

One simple word, but it seemed to change everything. Derek trusts him again, not just some implicit subtext but out in the world, plain to see. He shakes the thought from his head, because they were wasting time. He grabs his phone off the chest of drawers, fumbling it onto the bed with sleepy hands.

Danny answers on the third ring.

“Yo!” he says cheerfully, ignoring the bombardment of slurred cursing on the other end. “Me and Derek need you. Wow, that did not come out right. Derek’s found Jackson and the others. We’re going in.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” comes the response.

He hangs up. On to the next one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most unrealistic thing about this whole thing is that Derek's hair is still a perfect blue, because that shit is not easy to manage. I dyed over most of mine after like two days recently because it was too much work and staining everything in sight, so Derek's place is probably covered in random blue fingerprints and smudges. Poor guy.
> 
> Three chapters to go!


	10. The Queen Of Poisons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You two kissed and made up then?” Lydia asks with a smile, and if anyone notices both their necks flush slightly, they don’t mention it.
> 
> “Not quite,” Derek replies grumpily, and Stiles wonders just what that implies- not quite because they haven’t kissed, or because they haven’t made up?

They met a little way down the street, considering multiple cars pulling up at this hour would definitely arouse his dad’s suspicion because while he may be in on the big secret now, it didn’t suddenly make him okay with surreptitious night time excursions.

“You two kissed and made up then?” Lydia asks with a smile, and if anyone notices both their necks flush slightly, they don’t mention it.

“Not quite,” Derek replies grumpily, and Stiles wonders just what that implies- not quite because they haven’t kissed, or because they haven’t made up?

“Next time you ring me in the dead of night, can you make it more fun?” Danny quips, making Stiles smile.

“Anything for you, dude,” he responds jokingly, and winks. Derek makes a face, and he thinks of stopping the harmless flirtation since Danny is with Isaac so it means nothing, but if Derek is going to be a sourpuss about it, then maybe it should continue even if Stiles is supposed to be getting back into his good books here.

He still plants a hand gently on Danny’s shoulder as he climbs in the car, and Lydia struggles not to laugh.

“Can we get a move on?” Derek says. “We all have someone to rescue, remember,” he adds, although since Danny is the only one here with a partner, it’s obvious he’s not actually concerned and just trying to get Danny to back off. Derek is jealous, and Stiles is delighted. Although Danny isn’t the only one with a partner...

“Where’s Allison?” he asks, but no one needs to answer as headlights flash a little way down the street.

“Sorry,” she pants when she jumps in the back seat beside them, “my dad was wandering the house so it took way more time than it should have. I’m pretty sure he heard the car drive away but there’s nothing I can do about it now, so let’s go!”

***

Half an hour later, Stiles is feeling more than a little impatient.

“I thought you said you knew where they were,” he sniped at Derek, feeling cramped and antsy.

“I do,” he scowled back. “But when I found them, I was in wolf form, and I ran straight to you. I didn’t use roads to get there or back, and right now, I have no idea where we are in Beacon Hills, never mind in comparison to where I was when I saw it.”

“Saw what?” Allison asks. “The car?”

“No,” Derek replies, “wolfsbane. Freshly planted all around a house. It stops any of them getting out in case they break free of whatever they’re being held with. He’s clever, putting up so many defenses.”

“So, it’s not definitely them,” Danny queries.

“I can’t imagine anyone would want wolfsbane planted literally all the way around their house, directly up against the walls for aesthetic reasons,” Stiles answers for Derek. “It seems sound to me.”

Derek didn’t smile in gratitude, but since he didn’t snarl at him either, he took it as an additional page in his good books.

“I think, wait, stop the car. I think I remember this,” Derek says when they turn a corner downtown near the mall. “Go right here.”

Derek continues to direct, trying his best to follow an almost straight line route that Stiles soon realises constitutes of many tree-lined avenues on the edge of town. “You really do like living on the edge,” he jokes, but no one laughs. He keeps quiet after that, realising that this is perhaps more serious for the others than for him. He only truly cares about Scott, after all, and he’s crazy worried about him, but he trusts in the people in the car to be able to deal with Jackson, since they’ve dealt with far worse. It’s then that he suddenly thinks something about this is really off.

He ends up lost in thought, wondering why thinking about Jackson made him so worried just then, but the car pulls up and the doors open and he’s being pushed out onto the street before he can run it through the full Stilinski Brain Scan.

“Come on, Stiles, we’re walking from here.”

***

The house was around the corner and a little way down the road, Danny parking out of sight to avoid any forewarning. It turned out there was no need, because the distinctive motor was nowhere to be seen, Jackson obviously trusting in his kidnapped wolves to remain where they were.

Derek looks pained, and the closer they get, the harder it is for him to continue. “I can’t go in,” he says eventually, “I might be able to manage it but then I wouldn’t be able to get back out. You’ll have to manage without me, I’ll keep watch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lydia says, walking over to the line of aconite and pulling up three plants in a single hit before flinging them out of sight over the fence. “It’ll only take a few minutes to destroy this. He never was very good in defense,” she smiles, but it doesn’t seem real. Even after all this, she still cares, Stiles thinks. “Am I doing everything myself?” she enquires, dangerously polite, “because if I damage my nails one of you is paying for my next manicure.”

Danny and Stiles immediately set to work removing the plants, while Allison and Derek stand guard.

“They make an odd pair,” Danny says, looking over his shoulder and voicing what Stiles was already thinking.

“I didn’t think I’d see the day they worked together again,” Stiles admits.

“They probably hoped the same,” Danny replies, and Derek glances in their direction. They both shut up, having forgotten about Derek’s eavesdropping capabilities for a moment. “I mean, they don’t work as well together as we do,” Danny adds after a minute, clearly watching for a response. Derek immediately stands up taller, then turns to Allison and says something neither of them hear. Danny and Stiles laugh together.

“Too easy,” Stiles says, holding up his free hand for a high-five which is reciprocated with mushy plant stems. “Ugh, gross.”

“Are you two done?” Allison hisses. “I don’t like hanging around here in the open.”

“Yeah, we’re done,” Lydia says. “After you, Derek.”

Derek walks forward tentatively then, feeling nothing, kicks the door straight off its hinges into the house where it lands with a crash. The girls visibly recoil.

“Can’t you learn to pick locks with your claws?” Stiles says. “Everyone in a three block radius knows we’re here now.” Derek’s eyes flash dangerously, and he says nothing except “good” in a lower than usual growl.

“Let’s just find them and get out of here,” Lydia grumbles. “I need my beauty sleep.” Stiles almost laughs because it’s so untrue. She still manages to look beautiful even when she’s rolled out of bed in the early hours.

***

He watches them go into the house, wondering how best to proceed. He expected Derek to come with Stiles, sure, but having the other humans there to help was a flaw in the plan. It was easily solved though, he smiled to himself. He just needed more, and there was plenty stored away that he could easily collect without being noticed.

After spotting Derek earlier, he’d moved the car and waited nearby, eventually coming closer at the sound of the car. Watching them all climb out, he’d been tempted to abandon it all for a brief moment, but he’d come too far to give up now. He needed Derek. Needed his life back.

He walked to the back of the house, got what he needed, then listened for the sound of the basement door opening.

That was his cue.

***

“Here, I think I’ve found it,” Danny shouts as quietly as he can from the kitchen. The others all stumble in together, looking at the black oak door in relief. The house was empty, and Derek could sense the others and had been getting more and more agitated searching in vain for the door.

It was unlocked, and they cracked it open, revealing little but an immensely dark, rancid smelling basement.

“Oh god,” Allison moaned, because it did not seem like a good omen.

They traipsed down one by one, tasking Derek to find the light switch, which he yanked so hard it came straight out of the ceiling, but the bulb still flickered on regardless, showing the four wolves lying on the floor in various states of maltreatment.

“Scott, oh god, Scott,” Allison cries, running over to him and tearing at his ropes with her bare hands. He’s unconscious still, and she sobs into the damp shoulder of his torn shirt. Derek loses control then at seeing them, wolfing out and roaring at the state his betas were in.

“Woah, dude, calm down,” Stiles says, placing a calming hand on his shoulder, but it gets thrown off instantly with an angry snarl.

The others were awake, just about, but as Lydia, Danny and Stiles went toward them they hiss in pain and shrink away from them. “What’s wrong with them?” Danny asks, disturbed. “I don’t understand!”

He bends down to untie Isaac’s ropes, but Isaac kicks out and sends him sprawling across the floor. Erica is trying her best to impale Stiles on the one stiletto she still has on, crying and screaming under her gag.

“The wolfsbane,” Allison suddenly says. “You have it all over your hands. I’ll have to untie them all, Derek’s in no state to manage it right now.” She looks over to him, a mixture of pity and annoyance that he’s unable to help.

Erica is in the worst state of them all, so Allison goes to her next after handing Scott over to Stiles. She pulls the gag out of her mouth and Erica breathes in deep and hard, and Stiles worries about the chances of her having a seizure at the shock.

“It’s,” she splutters, “it’s a trap. Get out of here! He-” she says through violent coughs before being cut off by the sound of the basement door slamming shut. Jackson stands at the top of the stairs, cloaked in a oversized Beacon Hills hoodie that shrouds his expression, but Stiles can tell something isn’t right.

He looks to the betas, still shrinking away from him, and he understands. He knows what was bothering him earlier, and he knows that they’ve all got it very, very wrong.

“Guys,” he begins, but is stopped by something hitting him in the face, scraping against his eyes and making blinking momentarily painful. He tries to claw it out with his fingers, but then he falls to the floor, and he can hear the sound of the others dropping down beside him, having been hit by whatever it was as well.

For the second time in a week, everything around him goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back in familiar territory now, so hopefully this will be finished in the next few days (depending how carried away I get with the ending). Hope you're all continuing to enjoy this!


	11. Le Château de la Belle au Bois Dormant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jackson!” Lydia screams as he launches forward, directly at Stiles, who instinctively ducks at the sensation of someone leaping from behind him, and he can just make out Isaac and Boyd both comfortably sail over him and stand guard, claws out, fangs bared and snarling. Jackson makes short work of them both, and before Scott can get there, Jackson is on him, pushing him down, flexing his fingers, claws gleaming in the half-light. He feels the rush of air that signifies the arm coming down to his throat, then feels nothing.

When Stiles wakes up, he doesn’t immediately remember where he is. Everything seems lighter, the air seems fresher, he pulls in a deep breath and blinks once, twice, clearing his eyes with a finger after that doesn’t work. He looks down. he frowns.

He’s wearing the costume again, he’s back to being Prince Charming, and it doesn’t make any sense. He looks up again, sees Boyd and Erica in their Cleopatra and Antony garb, but of course they’d never changed out of it. They looked... better. Injury-free, both smiling at each other blissfully until they became aware of Stiles, of his get up, and then frowning.  A little way off, Isaac and Scott are groaning, pulling themselves out of sleep still, and also dressed in their costumes from the party. He turns once more, finds Allison and Lydia looking at each other with bemusement, and behind them... oh shit.

Jackson is a little way off, and Stiles can’t tell if he’s actually wearing anything or not because he’s mostly kanima’d out. Like everything else, he seems brighter, more in focus, his scales more forest green than the dull blackish hue they usually are. It’s weird that he notices that, but then this whole place is kinda weird. It seems to be some kind of castle.

“Where the fuck are we?” Lydia says, ever the lady.

“I have no idea,” Allison replies.

“Guys,” Stiles says to them, “you might want to run,” and points behind them. They both turn, and immediately begin to flee, but they seem trapped in slow motion, unable to reach any kind of speed, and Stiles is forced to watch as Jackson effortlessly catches up to them both and gets between them and the rest of the group.

“What the hell is this place?” Danny echoes everyone’s thoughts as the rest of them group together, trying to figure out how to get Allison and Lydia safely with them, and away from Jackson, who seems to be herding them somewhere.

“I’m alright,” Boyd says in disbelief. “I thought I was going to die, and now I’m okay.” He doesn’t make it sound like a positive thing, because every sentence is laced with confusion.

“Where’s Derek?” Isaac asks, and Stiles almost hits himself for not noticing that he was missing sooner. He’s supposed to care about Derek, and instead of missing him he’s too busy wondering about his questionable outfit. It’s yet more of the reason Derek can barely stand to be around him, feelings be damned.

“Derek’s exactly where I want him,” Jackson laughs, cruel and unafraid. “As are all of you.”

“Why do you want us in a castle dressed like this?” Erica asks incredulously.

“I was there that night, you know,” Jackson replies. At first it doesn’t seem like much of an answer, but when Stiles stops and thinks about it, he doesn’t need to hear any more. Jackson continues anyway. “I saw you all, laughing without me, not even caring that I wasn’t around. Now this is my chance to have my night.”

“It was never your night,” Lydia hisses at him.

It explains why Derek isn’t there, but it doesn’t explain why Derek was under a sleeping spell instead. Stiles knows something else doesn’t make sense, that he’d known it and forgotten it in an instant, and that if only he could get that clarity back, they could get out of this nightmare, wherever it was Jackson had taken them.

“Where’s Derek then?” he asks Jackson. “Why isn’t he part of your night? He was supposed to be your Alpha.”

“I told you, he’s exactly where I want him. And that’s not here.”

“Where is he, you bastard?” he shouts back, a little afraid of the way he’s losing control. It’s not like he can do anything to Jackson, but the shouting feels so good.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Jackson leers at him. “When I get back what’s mine from you.”

“What?” Stiles balks. “I don’t have anything of yours.”

He can feel the wolves behind him, slowly gathering together and forming a semicircle at his back, a layer of protection that he’d prefer in front of him but he knows as well as they do that Jackson could be there so much quicker than they’d ever manage. “What could I possibly have that you could want?”

Lydia glances at him then, frowns at the honesty in the statement.

“See!” Jackson yells in response. “Look at the way she looks at you! How dare you take her from me?”

“Jackson, dude,” Danny says, holding his hands out in a gesture of surrender as he walks towards him. “There’s nothing going on there, what’s gotten into you, man? This isn’t like you.” He attempts to put a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, but he pushes him away, sprawling on the floor, a cut along his arm. Stiles hears Isaac gasp behind him, feels hot breath on his neck.

“Jackson!” Lydia screams as he launches forward, directly at Stiles, who instinctively ducks at the sensation of someone leaping from behind him, and he can just make out Isaac and Boyd both comfortably sail over him and stand guard, claws out, fangs bared and snarling. Jackson makes short work of them both, and before Scott can get there, Jackson is on him, pushing him down, flexing his fingers, claws gleaming in the half-light. He feels the rush of air that signifies the arm coming down to his throat, then feels nothing.

***

Nothing. He feels nothing. He opens his eyes because he wants to work what the hell just happened.

Lydia is stood next to him, having somehow travelled faster than Jackson did, gripping the kanima arm inches away from him, her eyes furious and determined. “Don’t you touch him, Jackson,” she screeches, “don’t you dare. I don’t even know if he can die here, but I won’t take that chance, so you leave him _alone_.”

Okay, so she’s lost him now. She doesn’t know if he can die? Where the hell does she think they are?

“Oh, he can die here same as anywhere else,” Jackson laughs back at her mirthlessly.

“He isn’t,” she starts. Her shoulders sag and she lets out a long breath. “He doesn’t love me anymore, Jackson. He told me so.”

Stiles can see Scott shuffle in surprise now he’s moved around him, made his way to Allison silently, holding her in his arms - Stiles realises after a second he’s holding Allison back, her eyes murderous and aimed directly at Jackson’s back. _Let her_ , Stiles thinks, _let her do it_.

“I don’t care about that,” Jackson says, “this isn’t about love, Lydia. It’s about power.”

“You’re lying,” she bites back.

“Oh but I’m not,” he responds with a sneer. “I don’t love you, I just love what being with you affords me.”

She actually loosens her grip for a moment, enough for Jackson to try and slash at him but she pulls his arm away almost immediately, and Stiles sees something take hold in her face. “This isn’t about who you love,” she says to his face, “it’s about who I love.” And she kisses him.

Stiles is beginning to shout, but all his words fail him when she vanishes. He can’t even explain what happened. She was there, and then she was not. Jackson’s lips are still half-formed in a kiss, and he frowns when he feels the air brush across his lips and looks around, just as bewildered.

“Lydia!” he shouts. “Fuck you, Lydia!”

Everyone is stood in pairs now, Stiles and Jackson still dangerously close but he’s too confused by what happened to notice Stiles, who takes the opportunity to move away, inching backwards in a painful crawl. It’s Danny who understands what happened first.

“She broke the spell,” he whispers, but the sound carries and everyone hears. Jackson clicks and bristles. Danny turns to Isaac and kisses him as Jackson lunges towards him, and they both vanish. Stiles understands now, too.

This is where Derek was. This is what being under the sleeping curse is like, and Jackson brought them here somehow to, well, Stiles still doesn’t know what Jackson’s plan actually is. Only that there’s something wrong with it, other than bringing his hyper-intelligent girlfriend there and expecting her to remain clueless. She’s spent too long doing that before, Stiles knows. He watches Jackson try in vain to reach the others before they can both, as couples, break the spell and leave this nightmare. He laughs, because he didn’t know how literal he was being when he thought that before. Then he stops, because he realises that there’s nobody there to get him out.

Jackson looks at him, a nasty grin creeping up his face.

“At least I have the satisfaction of finally killing you,” he remarks casually, and pounces forward.

Stiles runs, believes he can outrun Jackson like Lydia believed she could stop Jackson killing him, and so he does outrun him. The power of lucid dreaming. He just hopes he can keep believing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le Château de la Belle au Bois Dormant is the castle at the centre of Disneyland Paris, because "Sleeping Beauty Castle" is a rubbish name for a chapter set in a weird dream with Disney costumes and stuff.
> 
> Writing a chapter without Derek scowling all over the place was strange, but he's back with a vengeance for the grand finale.


	12. Enter Sandman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why would you though? You woke up on your own the first time,” Stiles frowns.
> 
> “No.” 
> 
> Derek hesitates. “I didn’t. Someone woke me up. So you would have all been asleep forever, chased and killed over and over by Jackson in a permanent nightmare, if I hadn’t have done it.” He looks pained at the thought, which surprises Stiles. He still can’t quite get his head round the fact that Derek’s talking to him normally, not shouting and telling him what an annoyance he is and to get away from him immediately. “I couldn’t have left you all like that, not after you all tried to save me.”
> 
> “Who -” Stiles says, then stops, unsure if he wants the answer.

He’s still in the middle of running when all of a sudden there’s a rush of air, and he thinks Jackson has finally caught up but instead Derek is frowning above him, with what looks bizarrely like fear in his eyes. His brain is swirling so much that nothing is really making sense. He sits up, and is faced by -

Matt, bound with ropes and a nasty looking scratch across his face that must have been wiped clean because there’s no blood to be seen, although that doesn’t make sense but then nothing does right now. But seriously, Matt? He’s missed something major here.

“What the - “

“Jackson was never here,” Derek says, still anxious about something. “It was Matt all along. He took the Porsche before Jackson even left, he had some insane plan that I don’t even understand...”

“Oh please, it was perfectly simple,” Matt spits.

“But you _died_!” Stiles exclaims. “Gerard -”

“I drowned once and survived, you really thought I couldn’t manage it a second time?” Matt replies smugly. “I was starting to turn, Scott saw that, it was enough to keep me alive even when Gerard made me so weak that Jackson felt no connection to me any more. I escaped from the morgue, went on the run, found out all the stuff I needed to as the kanima began to fade once the connection severed. Made a plan.”

“He’s already babbled the whole plan to me, I can tell you later if you want,” Derek interrupts, obviously tired of Matt’s voice by this point.

“Aww, how sweet, planning a date already,” Matt sneers.

“He does like to soliloquy,” Stiles replies, ignoring Derek. “Where are the others?”

Derek’s eyebrows breakdance across his face, but when he sees Matt begin to open his mouth, he quickly answers. “They went outside after they helped me deal with him,” he says, inclining his head towards the captive.

“I think there’s some explaining that needs to be done when he’s not around,” Stiles says, and Derek flushes slightly, “what are you planning on doing with him anyway?”

“Give him to your dad,” Derek replies, “he is wanted for several murders after all.”

Matt’s face blanches, and he screams at Derek. “You promised me, Hale! You told me you would -”

“Then Lydia showed up unexpectedly,” Derek grins savagely back, “and the plan changed.”

“Let’s leave him talking to himself,” Stiles says, standing up and stretching his arms and legs. He pretends he doesn’t see Derek watching him do it, pretends he isn’t exaggerating the movements for his benefit. Plenty to explain later, he thinks. “No one likes Daehler’s voice more than Daehler.”

“I hate you Stilinski, I wish I’d killed you when I ran you off the road you little -” Matt shouts as they climb the stairs, his voice cutting off as they shut the basement door behind them.

***

“So you’re telling me,” Stiles says incredulously after Derek goes through Matt’s plan for the second time so he understands all the details, “that he learned how to be a Sandman by mixing powders and sand with his own tainted blood, and that’s how he got everyone to sleep? And that he kidnapped everyone just to get you to come to him, so that you could turn him into a werewolf?”

“The first time he put me to sleep, he tried to get me to bite him but it didn’t work because I couldn’t move anything, so he had to rework the plan. Kidnap everyone, make me come and find them, then put you all to sleep and force me to give him the bite before he’d wake you all up. Except Lydia woke up and smacked him round the head with a chair just before I could.”

“Why would you though? You woke up on your own the first time,” Stiles frowns.

“No.”

Derek hesitates. “I didn’t. Someone woke me up. So you would have all been asleep forever, chased and killed over and over by Jackson in a permanent nightmare, if I hadn’t have done it.” He looks pained at the thought, which surprises Stiles. He still can’t quite get his head round the fact that Derek’s talking to him normally, not shouting and telling him what an annoyance he is and to get away from him immediately. “I couldn’t have left you all like that, not after you all tried to save me.”

“Who -” Stiles says, then stops, unsure if he wants the answer.

“I think you already know,” Derek replies slowly. “There was only one person who could have woken you up, after all. And they did. Just like you did for them.”

“But.” Stiles mouth is gaping open, so attractively, because if he heard that right then he was the one who woke Derek up. “You hate me, or have you forgotten that all of a sudden?” He pauses for a moment, realising he probably shouldn’t have brought that up. “I don’t know why I reminded you,” he adds forlornly.

“I’m over it,” Derek says. “After Matt was dealt with, everyone kind of... took a moment to explain to me that I needed to get my act together because I was acting like an idiot. I know you didn’t mean any harm by what you did, and I’m sorry. I, well,” he stops, waves his hands rather like Stiles would, “you know. Actions speak louder than words, and all that.”

“Words are still fun though,” Stiles smirks, because he can’t help but make Derek squirm.

“I prefer actions, currently the one I’m thinking of involves punc -” Derek scowls back, but is cut off by Stiles rushing forward and kissing him. His lips feel warm and soft, Derek thinks, supple and manic just like the boy they were attached to. He kisses back, because he can’t stop himself. He wouldn’t want to.

“That’s the kind of action I prefer,” Stiles smiles.

“Me too,” Derek replies. He leans in, but Stiles puts a finger to his mouth.

“Wait,” he says, “Matt’s plan.”

“You’re thinking about Matt right now?” Derek huffs.

Stiles pulls his very best sassy Derek face back in return.

“I don’t get what him running me off the road does to help with the plan,” he says. “I mean, it doesn’t help get you to him, and it wasn’t like he was trying to kidnap me.” He looks at Derek, who seems like he’s dying to say something.

“Oh, he explained,” Derek says, “he said he just doesn’t like you. Simple as that.”

“And you didn’t rip him limb from limb for me?” Stiles pouts. “It’s like you don’t even care.”

“Oh, I care,” Derek huffs good naturedly, and pulls Stiles in to him. “I care a lot.”

***

“Hey, dad,” Stiles calls nervously from the door. “I know, I’m a terrible son who should never avoid his parent for this long but I had a very good reason -”

“Like being run off the road and kidnapped by a dead kid?” the sheriff says as he rounds the corner. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out about everything? If I didn’t have other things to discuss with you right now, and if you weren’t perfectly alright and partly responsible for capturing a murderer, albeit one I assumed was six feet under, which I assume you can’t explain to me yet again...”

“John,” a voice calls from the living room, “give the boy a break for now. We wanted to talk to him, remember?” Stiles recognises the voice. Melissa.

“I don’t think we need this talk, you know,” Stiles smiles at her as she joins John in the hallway. “I already know the deal here, and I’m fine with it. Honestly,” he adds when his dad gives him a concerned frown. “What I need right now, is a lot of rest. I tired myself out,” he starts to say before he realises exactly what he’s telling his father and the closest thing he’s had to a mother for years now. “With the whole kidnapping thing and whatever,” he stammers out.

The sheriff and Melissa fix him with an odd look.

“You sure there’s nothing else you want to tell us dear?” Melissa asks, her face a mask of innocence.

“Scott!” Stiles shouts, and he knows he’s right when one side of her mouth quirks for a moment. “Alright, fine. But everything I say cannot be used against me, blah blah etcetera.” His dad frowns but Stiles cuts him off.

“Hey, I could act all disapproving of you if you try it with me,” he says, and loves that Melissa laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge break, the internet in Turkey is not good enough to be able to post on here annoyingly, but now I'm back!
> 
> I was going to do one long final chapter, but it seemed to fit better to split it into two as I started writing it. This is a rather rough chapter, all things considered, so forgive me for that but it would have been too clustered trying to fit everybody in. The final chapter will definitely check in with everyone, I promise!


	13. Prince Charminski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, I’m pretty sure Prince Charming never ended up with the big bad wolf in the stories I was told,” Derek says to him conversationally as he sneaks his hand under the waistband and pulls down. Stiles responds by pushing him suddenly, sending him flying backwards onto the bed, caught unawares.
> 
> “Fuck stories,” Stiles replies, shirking down Derek’s trousers in one smooth movement, and climbing on top of him, his own pants lay in a pile on the floor, naked but for the cape. “I prefer real life.”

“I can’t believe you told your mother,” Stiles says to Scott, shooting him a glare as he walks into the apartment and squeezes himself in beside Derek nonchalantly.

Stiles and Derek had been living in a bubble these past few days, and the pack were getting antsy, so with some reluctance they’d invited them round for an evening of catch up. But Stiles was caught up at home and ended up turning up late.

“Hello to you too,” Scott replies. “What’s the big deal? I got excited that you finally got your acts together! It’s cute.” He slips his arm around Allison who seems slightly nervous to be here. Now he thinks about it, he’s not sure Allison has ever been here before except in times of grave danger and never ending bickering.

Derek fixes Scott in his gaze. “Cute?”

“Yeah,” he says, “cute. Although if you hurt him, this town will have a new Alpha, I swear on that.” Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen Scott so determined, so dominant. “I could be his half-brother soon, and that’s an even more terrifying person to piss off than his best friend, Derek.”

Stiles can feel Derek’s hand tighten against his arm, a testament to how seriously he was taking Scott’s threat.

“Half-brother soon?” Stiles says. “Maybe I should have listened to my dad properly the other day?”

“Oh relax, I didn’t mean that. I just figured it’d happen.”

“When are you two going to tie the knot?” Erica says with a grin as she and Boyd come back from the kitchen. “Hi Stiles,” Boyd adds evenly. Erica has, as she said she would, dyed her hair with vivid hot pink streaks through it. It looks good, but she always does.

There’s a sudden sharp pain in his arm. “Ow! Fuck, Derek,” he says, trailing off as he looks at the two puncture marks from where his claws had extended. Blood wells up and he gets up, walks to the kitchen and can sense Derek behind him. “Well done Erica,” Isaac gloats from the other room as he roots around the cupboard for the first aid kit he knows is here somewhere.

“I’m sorry.”

Derek has his arm around him, tentative and gentle, and he swivels round within his grasp and kisses him lightly on the nose. “It’s okay, honestly. It doesn’t hurt that much. I have been in a car crash and knocked out with magical sand in the past few days, a couple of claw marks are nothing.” He flicks up an eyebrow. “If you get my meaning...”

“Everyone is probably horrified in the other room,” Derek replies. “Stop giving Erica ammo.”

“She makes her own up, it doesn’t matter what I say.”

Derek laughs. “Come on, I’ll fix that up and then we’ll rejoin the, um, fun.”

He winks at Stiles, who can’t help but stand there with his jaw dropping, because Derek winking is not something that has ever happened before, to the best of his extensive knowledge. Knowledge which has only been getting a hell of a lot more extensive recently.

“Stiles can you stop? I can smell you from here,” Erica complains, and he shifts guiltily and walks back in, glowering at her futilely. She grins at him, and he can’t help but grin back, because he’s too happy at the moment.

The doorbell rings, and a minute later Danny and Lydia are pushing and shoving everyone around until things are mighty cosy, Isaac draping himself over Danny to make enough room. Lydia eyes Erica appraisingly.

“I love the hair, I take it Derek inspired you?”

“He sure did, even if his is rather tatty these days.”

Stiles looks up, and it’s true, the blue is fading and turning green and there’s blond leaking through around the back. “You should see me wolfed out,” Erica continues, and shifts before anyone can ask her too. She does look pretty awesome, shocking fuchsia and blonde lines surrounding her face. “Derek would look a hot mess like this right now,” she laughs.

He snarls playfully and shifts himself, but Erica is right, it’s not a good look. Stiles gives him a pointed look and he changes back quickly. He looks at the others faces. “Maybe I should change it back,” he ponders. Stiles is weirdly sad about that, Derek replacing something he had done, but since Derek had kept it for this entire time he should probably not say anything. He looks up and finds Derek watching him.

“What?”

“You smelled upset.”

“I cannot handle you having all these feelings,” Isaac says, “it’s unnerving.”

***

The next day, Stiles comes to the apartment and Derek has locked himself in the bathroom and won’t let him in. “I can’t just hang around out here on my own all day,” he complains through the door, with nothing but a noncommittal grunt as a response. After nearly half an hour of pacing and huffing and picking up random ornaments and almost dropping them, he goes to make food, and is buttering bread when the door unlocks.

Immediately he rushes through the apartment, skidding to a halt when faced with a shirtless Derek, water droplets stroking down his bare chest from his newly-blackened hair. The sheer blackness of it is astounding, but even more so is the small patch at the front, sapphire blue, standing out like a star in the darkest of night skies. Stiles wants to move forward, trace the water trails with his fingers, run his hands through his hair, kiss his stupid, beautiful face.

“You like it?” Derek asks, genuinely unsure. Stiles almosts laughs at his hesitancy.

“I love you,” he replies. “It, I mean, I love it,” he corrects instantly, mortified, but there’s no need to be.

A grin breaks out across Derek’s face. “I love you too,” he says, and it’s no slip of the tongue. It pulls Stiles forward like a rope wrapped around him, and then he’s there in front of him, and their tongues are dancing in each other’s mouths, their noses brushing past each other, Stiles’s hands massaging at Derek’s damp shoulders, whose own hands are under his shirt and tracing circles around his nipples. The front door opens.

“Next time, please choose people with manners to become part of your pack,” Stiles moans at him, quickly pulling away and hoping the patches of damp on his shirt from Derek’s body aren’t too obvious.

He can hear Danny and Isaac talking in the next room, seemingly planning a night in. Derek groans.

“Fuck this,” Stiles says, “if they’re spending the evening in, you can come to mine. My dad is going out with Scott’s mum tonight, which is why I came over in the first place.” He looks up at Derek. “But this isn’t a free house, and my place is.” He strides through the living room, making Danny jump.

“I’ll be round soon,” Derek says as he heads into the room behind Stiles, “just need to finish getting ready. Hi Danny,” he adds, who quickly looks away and flushes at being caught ogling, and Isaac scowls at Derek. He gives him a toothy grin in reply. Stiles is still laughing as he heads down the stairs.

***

When Derek arrives, the place is in darkness.

Immediately, he’s on edge - Stiles is supposed to be home. He listens, really listens, and there, straining to be heard against the cars on the avenue and the insects bustling through the grass, is a heartbeat. Soft and quiet and rhythmic, and at that something inside him relaxes.

He contemplates the bedroom window, but as he’s rounding the house he sees the front door is just a fraction ajar. It worries him despite knowing Stiles is calmly waiting inside, so he heads towards it, slips through, and quietly sweeps the downstairs of the house, his eyes two drops of bright blood on anything reflective. Nothing.

Halfway up the stairs, Stiles’s door opens up and he tenses instinctively. Stiles steps out, and he’s, well, he’s outstanding. He obviously snuck off with the fancy dress costume, but he’s decided to wear only the trousers, the shoes and the red cape. The moonlight pouring in from the window drapes him in white, and Derek can’t even move, spellbound.

“Prince Charminski, trying his best not to jump your bones considering how _bored_ of waiting he was,” Stiles says, unaware of the effect he’s having. “Why were you wandering round the house anyway? You know where my room is by now, you’ve broken in enough times.”

“I, well,” Derek stutters, hating how much this boy has messed with his head. “The house was in darkness, the front door was slightly open, I was worried.” He frowns at Stiles. “I get what you were trying to do, and trust me, you look incredible, but I don’t think leaving the door open for anyone to drop by is a great idea really.”

“I look incredible?” Stiles repeats incredulously. “I’m not even wearing my grandad’s clothes.”

Derek is unsurprisingly nonplussed, and Stiles is forced to continue onwards.

“Live in the now Derek, seriously. Believe me, not many people are rushing to try and burgle the sheriff’s place of residence. I’m not that dumb.”

“It was reckless,” Derek grumbles. “Sorry, I’m as wowed as you wanted me to be and a lot, lot more, I just don’t want something to happen to you.”

“Most things already have,” Stiles reasons, not unfairly.

“Well I’d like that to stop,” Derek says with a questioning smile. Are we cool?

“Maybe I shouldn’t let a crazy werewolf in my room then?”

“If you don’t, I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down.”

Stiles laughs delightedly. “It wasn’t my house I was planning on you blowing, to be honest.” Derek can see Stiles’s ears flush slightly from his own words. He suddenly has no idea why he’s still stood stock still on the stairs. He leaps the last five, his hands already on Stiles’s chest. “It’s just so unfair,” he says.

“What is?” Stiles frowns.

“That you look like _this_ , but have a personality like _that_ ,” Derek smirks back.

“Pot kettle black,” Stiles huffs, but he’s smirking too.

The bedroom door gets slammed behind them as Derek pushes Stiles up against it, their mouths slotting together wonderfully fast, and he can feel Stiles straining even through the loose trousers of the outfit. He runs his hand down the front of them and Stiles groans in his ear.

“You know, I’m pretty sure Prince Charming never ended up with the big bad wolf in the stories I was told,” Derek says to him conversationally as he sneaks his hand under the waistband and pulls down. Stiles responds by pushing him suddenly, sending him flying backwards onto the bed, caught unawares.

“Fuck stories,” Stiles replies, shirking down Derek’s trousers in one smooth movement, and climbing on top of him, his own pants lay in a pile on the floor, naked but for the cape. “I prefer real life.”

“Me too,” he mumbles into Stiles’s ear as he bites down gently, making Stiles tense his hole up against his dick, making himself realise just how close they are right now. It’s blissful. Me too, he repeats in his head as he slowly pushes his way inside, Stiles moaning and emitting small gasps of encouragement.

He hadn’t imagined that their first time would happen this fast, this sudden, but both of them were as reckless and direct as the other, and this was both those things. Stiles wants it urgently, breathlessly, and Derek makes sure he gets it.

“Oh, oh god,” is the only coherent thing he gets from Stiles before he feels his legs squeezed together from the force of Stiles heading into orgasm, spilling over his stomach and chest in a wave of mumbled noises. Barely two minutes, he follows suit, his hands pushing into Stiles’s thighs as he pulses into it.

“You wolfed out a little bit,” Stiles says afterwards, “don’t worry, I was into it.”

“Beyond charming,” Derek responds into Stiles’s shoulder, his head tucked into the side of Stiles’s neck as he hugs against him, hand across his chest as Stiles lays back flatly. “I’ve really lucked out here,” he says, trying to sound joking but his voice failing to receive the memo.

Stiles looks down at him, kisses his forehead softly. “Me too,” he echoes from earlier, and Derek feels like finally, somehow, he did something right here, just from those two words. Me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're finally finished! The chapter summary at the top was going to be the end of the fic, but I decided that stopping right there was just too cruel.
> 
> This whole thing was a learning curve and a half, and I'm sure I'll come back to this at some point in the future and edit the hell out of it to make it better, because there's already a lot I'm not thrilled with looking back. But that's life, and I'm just happy I finished it and that people will read it and (hopefully) enjoy it!


End file.
